Chapter 22
The enemy came to Blade even before the dueling circle was completely out of sight behind him.
A seemingly endless column of Goharan horsemen was cantering out of one of the wooded passes. At least two thousand were already in sight, with more coming on fast. The leading riders were moving six and eight abreast, and all of them carried bows and swords. At the end of the horsemen a red banner flapped in the damp air.
After that, Blade decided he'd seen enough. The leading riders would soon be within bowshot. Now that he had accurate news, the next thing was to get it back to the rebels. The Goharans had managed almost complete surprise, but even a few minutes' warning to the camp would save a good many lives. Blade cursed the rebels' refusal to send out scouts.
Suddenly the leading riders broke into a gallop, with drums thudding behind them. Blade shouted to his companions and all of them put spurs to their own horses. The wild chase went down the hill in a rush. The horse of a man riding with Blade slipped on the grass and went down. The rider rolled free and rose to his feet unhurt, but now he was within bowshot of the Goharans. Blade saw arrows sprout like a porcupine's quills from the man, then he vanished under the thundering hooves of the enemy.
Blade lost two more men as he rode back to join the main army, and several arrows came unpleasantly close to him. The Goharans were gaining, but as they did their leading ranks were getting ragged as each rider spurred his horse to the limit.
If the Goharans had been equipped with spurs and able to press home a boot-to-boot charge with lances, the rebel army would still have been doomed. The few minutes' warning Blade gave them wouldn't have been enough. He found the camp still in a frantic confusion, with riderless horses dashing in all directions and horseless riders chasing them.
The Goharans were horse archers, with their curved swords for close work. They had to shoot until the enemy was broken, then charge. At least all their books said this was the way to fight a battle, and their general seemed to be going by the book.
Somehow Blade didn't wind up sprouting arrows when the Goharans behind him opened fire. The arrows came down all around him, and a solid curtain of them seemed to fall on the man just ahead. Screaming men and screaming horses went down by the dozens, thrashing wildly, the flailing hooves killing men who'd survived the arrows. Blade pulled his horse around to the left and rode clear across the front of the rebel army. Goharan arrows pursued him all the way and finally caught up with his horse as he reached the end of the line.
The horse screamed, reared up, and fell sideways, blood gushing from its nose and torn throat. Blade leaped clear, hit the ground on all fours, and didn't bother standing up until he was a little closer to his friends. He rose to his feet only a few yards from where the teamsters were struggling with their wagons.
«No, Blade. You should stay on your feet, like us!» It was Khraishamo. He was standing beside an upturned barrel of ale, stuffing Rhodina into a scale-mail jacket. «Get one of these for yourself too. This isn't the kind of battle for walking around bare as a frog.»
Blade knew that perfectly well. He was just about to point out that Khraishamo was equally exposed, when suddenly Rhodina screamed.
«Those dirty, horse-dung stinking bastards! They're running out on us!»
Blade's eyes followed Rhodina's pointing finger, and he joined in Rhodina's cursing. As fast as they mounted up, the Maghri were streaming away to the rear and vanishing in the hills to the east. None of them were galloping, but very few of them were staying. It wasn't a panicky flight, it was the orderly withdrawal of an army that is simply refusing to fight.
Blade stopped cursing and turned to the people around him. Some of them were also cursing, while others were looking toward the rear again. Many were too furious to either speak or move. He jumped up on top of the ale barrel and shouted to everyone who could hear: «So the damned Maghri have run off? Well, we're not going to run. We're going to show those bastards that we're better men. And we're going to show the Goharans the same!» He pointed at the horsemen. They were all gathered now, and a glance gave him a rough estimate of their strength.
«There aren't more than four thousand of them,» he yelled. «We still outnumber them, and they're a long way from home. We stand here and beat them, and that's the end.»
«And if we don't beat them?» someone shouted.
«Then we'll die like men, with something to be proud of! Do you think the Maghri are going to be happy after what they've done today?» Blade wasn't sure he was making sense. He wasn't even completely sure what he was saying. He only knew that he had to say something to pull the rebels together, and if it succeeded, so much the better. He and his friends weren't going to retreat, whatever anybody else did, and he didn't really want this to be Richard Blade's Last Stand.
The sudden disappearance of the Maghri seemed to be confusing the Goharans. They were all lined up and ready, a man in a golden helmet out in front, but not moving. The arrow fire slackened, then Blade heard shouted orders and it stopped entirely. Were the Goharans short of arrows?
That was an encouraging thought, but it was only a guess. Silence was falling over the battlefield, and in that silence Blade found his voice carrying from one end of the rebel line to the other.
«Dismount and shoot from on foot. Men with spears and swords, pull the horses back. Archers, aim for the enemy's horses. They've got a long walk back to Mythor!» Horses were bigger targets than men, and a Goharan soldier on foot this deep in a hostile countryside would be lucky to get back alive even if his side won today's battle.
«Hurry, damn-!»
Then the head of the ale barrel caved in under Blade. He plunged chest-deep into stale ale, making everyone who saw him double over with laughter. Khraishamo helped him climb out, coughing and spitting out ale, while all along the rebel line men started obeying Blade's orders.
As the Goharans sat on their horses and watched, Blade began to realize he'd done a good job. The Goharans were either short of arrows or saving them to deal with the Maghri once they'd smashed the rebels. They weren't going to stand off and use a hail of arrows to break the rebels before closing in. On the other hand, they couldn't just charge in. Without stirrups, a Goharan leaning out of his saddle to cut down a man on foot standing his ground would risk tumbling headfirst under the hooves of his own horse.
If he'd had any money, Blade would have placed a sizable bet that the Goharans would make their attack on foot.
After milling around for half an hour, the Goharans began to organize their attack. They dismounted, and some started leading the horses to the rear, out of bowshot. The rest drew their swords, rested them on their left shoulders, lined up, and waited for the order to advance.
It came. The general in the gold helmet rode out in front of his men, waving his sword over his head. He pointed it toward the rebel lines, shouted something in a high-pitched voice, then sat on his horse as his men charged past him toward the enemy.
Most of the rebels were also short of arrows, with only a single quiverful apiece. They'd expected to get more from the Maghri, who were now riding merrily off with their arrows and everything else they had. Most of the advancing Goharans also wore scale mail shirts, which provided more protection than anything the rebels were wearing.
So the advancing Goharans weren't shot down by the hundreds. The best archers among the rebels opened up first. By the time they ran short of arrows the range closed to where it was hard to miss. With wounded men dropping out at every step, the Goharans advanced steadily, their line growing more ragged as they did. Blade realized the Goharans weren't used to holding formation while fighting on foot. Perhaps he should have kept a few hundred men mounted, to take advantage of this fact? Probably, but it was too late to make such a big change now, with the hand-to-hand fighting about to start. His battle plan was working fairly well for something dreamed up on the spot.