Chapter 7

General Tobil rode out with two hundred and fifty men to ‘observe’ the army of Fordel’s progress against the Rachtelinian bandits ... as the enemy were being labelled. His real reason was to be associated with a victory, which he intended to use to increase his political power within the state. The head of the military was not a post any in the hierarchy aspired to; it was where the talentless rich ended up. Still, Tobil had spent time reading about various campaigns and felt he knew what to expect. Unfortunately for him, the treatises he’d read were not those written by those campaigning but by their aggrandisers, and they’d left out the mundane aspects of logistics, scouting, etc. Still, Tobil felt that the knights and footmen would gain some glory as the Rachtelinian bandits were put in their place.

The Fordelians took four days to approach the area of Culn, where it was suspected that the bulk of the Rachtelinians were. This had not been a rapid advance but a slow progression. The army was forced to wait as supplies were slow to catch up with them, and the various towns and villages were unprepared for an army passing through them. Whilst Rachtelinian scouts had been spotted, all the Fordelians could do was chase them away; any Fordelian attempts to scout had ended up in ambushes as the Rachtelinians drew them in and surrounded them.

Still, on the morning of the fifth day, the Fordelian vanguard finally encountered the Rachtelinians, finding them primarily footmen with light cavalry and mounted archers to their rear.

“Your thoughts, Captain Griff?” Tobil asked the elected leader of the mercenaries, as he could not for the life of him make out what the Rachtelinians were about.

“Looks like they believe they can hold off the knights and pepper them with arrows,” Griff replied, setting aside his treasured spyglass. “No sign of their knights, though I suspect they’ll be around somewhere.”

“Can you beat them?”

“I believe so; they aren’t the only ones with archers,” Griff grimly smiled. “Nor do I expect they’ll be able to cope with casualties; most spent their last war guarding bridges.”

“Well, you know what you’re about, so I’ll leave you to it,” Tobil replied.

Orders were sent out, and the mercenaries drew up lines; Tobil’s knights were set as a reserve whilst the hard-bitten mercenary knights drew up in three solid battles. A horn sounded, and the first of the battles set off at a trot towards the waiting Rachtelinians, who remained in ranks patiently. A second horn sounded, and the battle increased pace to a canter, lances moving down to the forward position. The charge sounded when the battle reached three hundred paces, and things went very wrong for the mercenaries. The land in front of the men-at-arms had been strewn with caltrops and sharpened stakes, which had an immediate effect. Worse still was the arrow storm, with the entire battle being peppered by a hail of arrows, many finding their mark despite the larger shields being carried.

A disorganised battle reached within thirty yards of the men-at-arms, then found they had lifted long spears, so the battle faced an impenetrable wall of spikes. No matter the bravery of the mercenaries, the horses weren’t stupid, and most came to an immediate halt, throwing their riders, oftentimes killing their riders from the fall and stunning the rest. Chaos reigned in the battle as the survivors desperately tried to pull back, many going down with an arrow to their back as the first encounter turned into a fiasco for the Fordelian mercenaries.

Captain Griff observed and sent in the second battle, hoping the first had cleared some of the way for the mercenaries. He was correct, though the second battle was forced to veer around the routed first battle, causing them to fall under the arrow storm for longer. Realising the futility of charging a spear wall, the battle commander ordered a dismount and, with shields raised, his men advanced, hoping to close with the Rachtelinians. This went horribly wrong for the mercenaries when what he thought were spearmen extended their spears and charged his knights. Not expecting a counter by men-at-arms, the second battle lost cohesion as some parts hesitated, and those on the edge prepared to run as the Rachtelinian pike wall crashed into their ranks.

Upon running into the mercenaries, the pikemen thrust their pikes forward, then pulled back as the man behind them thrust forward with his pike. The ranks to the side of the Rachtelinian parted, and horse archers galloped out to pepper the sides of the battle, causing more casualties as the mercenaries realised that they could not close with the Rachtelinians, nor could their panicking centre retreat.

“Advance all!” Griff commanded, realising that only a concerted effort might take the Rachtelinians down.

On the field in front of the Rachtelinian lines, the beleaguered second battle was finally allowed to retreat, other than being peppered by horse archers. The pikemen returned to their original positions as the Fordelian onslaught approached. Both sides started loosing arrows at each other, though the Rachtelinians had far more in the way of archers, both mounted and on foot. Despite the enlarged shields the Fordelian mercenaries were using, more of them were going down than the Rachtelinians, who were focusing their efforts on any mounted foes. It was only when the Fordelians got within twenty paces of the pikes that Jertin ordered a charge, again catching the Fordelians by surprise, as experience has taught them that a shield wall (which was what they thought they faced) was for defence only, to allow knights to redress their lines.

“Wonder if this is the only time we’ll get to do this?” Jertin’s second in command commented as the pikes sundered the Fordelian vanguard.

“You never know,” Jertin replied, signalling the mounted archers and lancers to move to the wings.

Griff was now a very worried commander. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for the Rachtelinian tactics, nor had any of the mercenary groups who had been present in the Rachtelinian civil war mentioned anything like it. His scouts had reported only light cavalry and archers, not a heavy core of knights, and he’d presumed this was a raiding expedition, a minor nuisance, not an invasion. Using your spearmen to charge a mounted advance and carry through to the advancing footmen was something out of a nightmare, and he could see the panicked mercenary captains beginning to pull their men back in preparation to flee. This, one band did try, but to Griff’s astonishment, they were cut down by swift-moving lancers, causing others to form defensive squares to protect themselves, only to be cut down by the resulting arrow storm from the Rachtelinian horse archers.

The Fordelian advance came to a shuddering halt, then appeared to splinter against the Rachtelinian line as units lost cohesion and refused to advance into the arrow storm or against the lethal pikes. The retreat then turned into a rout, as retreating generally meant turning your back to the archers, with only a few disciplined units slowly moving away while still keeping a file facing the Rachtelinians.

“Set loose the lancers,” Jertin ordered. “Mounted archers to cover their advance.”

The bulk of the former knights of Rachtelin, who were now lightly armed lancers, moved swiftly around the wings of the pikemen, having been held as a reserve by Jertin for just this occasion. Only those to the rear of the Fordelian mercenaries could retreat, and only those on horseback could escape in numbers. This included a shaken General Tobin and the Fordelian knights. Observing, with only a small reserve, Captain Griff could only watch with horror as the supposed veteran mercenaries were torn apart until, finally, quarter was called for.

Jertin rode forward to meet the mercenaries’ spokesman, even as his pursuit troops cantered after the now-fleeing survivors, ensuring they left the field, then seizing their camp, not chasing them down. The man, though wounded, gave a rough salute when Jertin dismounted and faced him.

“We seek terms,” the mercenary requested.

“I can grant parole,” Jertin replied. “A silver each and a pledge to not face us again in this conflict.”

“We accept,” the mercenary replied. “What then?”

“We’ll permit you to go east towards Lucil; from there, it’s up to you.”

“Generous of you,” the mercenary conceded.

“Our quarrel isn’t with you,” Jertin replied. “Not unless you make it so.”

“After today, I doubt any of us would care to do that,” the mercenary nodded.

At this point, a rider approached Jertin and spoke quietly to him before moving off. “We have your war chest,” Jertin said. “The parole will be taken from it, our healers will assist your wounded, and then you’ll be escorted east.”

“Damned civilised of you,” the mercenary confessed.

“Just stay out of our way.”

“Noted.”

“Going well,” Darras commented to Erren.

“It is; the Fordelians and their mercenaries have been caught by surprise by Jertin and will need to change tactics to have any chance of success in the future,” Erren replied.

“Will they? Darras asked.

“No, or rather, they’ll try things but won’t be adept at them.”

“Will I be needed there?”

“Not yet; Colanthus hasn’t raised a problem for the Rachtelinians yet,” Erren smiled. “There was one within the mercenary ranks, but he went down to an arrow in the first exchange.”

“Not the best place to be if you’re hoping to win a war,” Darras chuckled.

“True, my love,” Erren smiled. “I suspect he was just an over-muscled idiot that Colanthus took a fancy to.”

“Sounds about right.”

“I will be sending you to the Holy Forest, though; Firios and his team will get you to Lucil, where Nemmos and a team from Dobra are hoping to sabotage the town’s finances by destroying the ledgers of state.”

“Why do they need me?” Darras asked.

“They need your strength to lower the tax chest down from the exchequer building’s top floor onto a wagon,” Erren smiled.

“Ah,” Darras chuckled. “Makes sense.”

“They’ll deal with the town gates and the guards there,” Erren explained. “Then they go to the Dryad’s home where the tax revenue will be held and redistributed to the forest kin living in the forest and used to help rebuild my temples destroyed by the Darmelans.”

“I’m sure Dobrans will receive a donative,” Darras nodded.

“Yes, Doriel confirmed it.”

“Good of her.”

“She’s pleased to help, though she won’t allow the forest folk to involve themselves in a Human fight.”

“Just the Human forest kin, I know,” Darras nodded. “When do I go?”

“Tomorrow morning, as we reckon things.”

Darras stepped through the gateway into the village of the forest kin and greeted the Dryad Syriel politely. “Blessings be upon you, sister of the woods.”

“May Lomarris bless you, too, sir Darras.”

Darras made his way to the home of Garri, the headman, and was greeted by him as he entered. He found the Elves already there.

“Darras, my friend,” Firios hailed. “A simple mission?”

“Should be,” Darras nodded. “However, if things go wrong, you may be needed.”

“We’ll be ready if such is the case,” Firios replied.

“The Forestfolk will permit you the hidden paths,” Garri added.

“Good,” Darras nodded. “How is the supply situation?”