Reaper's Gale

To her immediate left waited three half-legions of heavies from the Artisan Battalion, screened in front by a thousand Harridict skirmishers just beginning their move down towards the broad, flat riverbed. Just north of these units waited the Atri-Preda’s mailed fist, a thousand heavies of the Crimson Rampant, again in sawtooth form-ation, against whom she expected Redmask to throw his main force of warriors-who were already directly opposite, still holding to their spearhead forms, five in all.



Behind this solid wall of heavy infantry waited the remaining three companies of Bluerose lancers, although this was a feint, since Bivatt intended to send them northward, round behind the ballistae knoll and down into the riverbed beyond the chokepoint.



North of the Crimson Rampant heavy infantry was another shield-wall of the brigade’s medium infantry, positioned to guard the flank of the heavies to their right and the approach to the knoll to their left.



Settling back onto her saddle, Bivatt gestured and an aide hurried to her side. ‘Signal the Crimson Rampant heavy to advance into the valley and halt midway between their present position and the riverbed. Confirm that the Dresh ballistae are properly sighted for enfilade.’



The runner rushed off to the block of flag signallers gathered on the raised platform behind her. Without mages they were resorting to the ancient practices of communication. Far from ideal, she admitted, and once the clouds of dust rose above the engagement… well, at that point such signalling often became irrelevant.



She waved another aide forward. ‘Send the left flanl lancers to north of the chokepoint.’



Right and left on the valley slope before her, Letherii skirmishers were reaching the flats of the riverbed, still unchallenged. The sound of masses of soldiers in motion rose in a whisper above the thunder of horse-hoofs from the other side of the valley.



On that side the clouds of sunlit dust obscured almost everything, but she noted that those clouds stretched both north and south, well beyond the battle site. Well, one Of those marks a feint, likely the north one. He knows which of my horns will strike deepest and turn. She called out to a third message-bearer. ‘Signal the right flank lancers to advano to the edge of the riverbed, widely arrayed in case the skirmishers need to withdraw in haste. Crimson Rampant mediums and the Harridict heavies to march down in their wake.’



Let’s get this damned thing started, Redmask.



She couldn’t see him. No knot of standards or banners marked his command position. No riders converging in one place then back out again.



But, finally, movement. Lightly armoured skirmishers were pelting down to meet her right advance. Slingers, shortbow archers, javelin-hurlers, round hide shields and scimitars. The mass of horse-archers that had been riding back and forth along that ridge line was suddenly gone.



‘Have the south lancers hold!’ Bivatt snapped. Those Awl skirmishers were an invitation to charge, at which point her cavalry’s flank would be swept by those mounted archers-and whatever lurked hidden behind them.



Light engagement now between skirmishers, directly down from the Drene Garrison. The javelins were an unexpected inclusion, and were proving bloodily effective.



The southernmost Crimson Rampant skirmishers had crossed the riverbed and were angling northward-still a i housand or more paces from contacting their Awl counterparts. Then arrows began descending in their midst-horse-archers, crowding the ridge just above its steepest bank. Hardly clouds of missiles, but enough to make those lightly armoured skirmishers flinch, then contract slightly kick towards the riverbed.



Where the hand-to-hand fighting was occurring, the Artisan skirmishers-weathering the javelin strike-were now driving the Awl back.



The early morning air remained infuriatingly still-no wind at all, and the dust swirled and rolled and spread in an ever-thickening haze.



At sighting the half-thousand heavy infantry of the Harridict appear at the west edge of the riverbed, the Awl skirmishers began a wholesale retreat, many flinging away their round-shields.



Redmask does not have their hearts. Oh, we can break them here. Hard and fast. ‘Signal the Merchants’ heavies to advance and swing south!’



To her left, the only movement was from her own forces, the skirmishers of the Harridict and, just north of them, the Crimson Rampant heavy infantry-almost to the riverbed now. She squinted at the valley’s opposite side. Perhaps this chaos she was seeing was evidence of Redmask’s loss of control. No, wait on this. Wait until we take the valley’s south end.



The Artisan skirmishers were seeking to maintain contact with the retreating Awl, but Bivatt could see the sergeants holding them in check, keeping them just ahead of the advancing heavies on their right flank. Still, throwing away their damned shields…