Lyrna gazed ahead at the long procession of poles disappearing into the distance, discerning a faint pall of dust rising above the horizon. “I doubt the Empress intends our passage to be an easy one.”
Al Hestian had sent the Sixth Order ahead that morning and Brother Sollis soon returned to report the approach of a host some seventy thousand strong. “About half Varitai, by my estimation,” he said. “They’re a more ragged lot than we’re used to. I suspect the Empress has commandeered every privately owned slave soldier in the region. The Free Swords don’t seem much better, old men and boys mostly. However, their cavalry is another matter, keeping in good order and patrolling the flanks with keen eyes. We were lucky to return without being seen.”
“No Kuritai or Arisai?” Lyrna asked.
“None that I could see, Highness.”
“The temple taught us a hard lesson,” Al Hestian said. “We can expect them to have hidden their elite among the fodder.”
“In any case it’s suicide,” Nortah commented, shaking his head. “There are well over a hundred thousand souls in this army now, and growing by the day.”
“If our enemy is intent on their own destruction,” Lyrna said, “I am more than happy to oblige. Battle Lord, you will wish to make your dispositions.”
? ? ?
Al Hestian sent the Nilsaelin horse and North Guard galloping off before his main battle line was fully in place, ordering them to engage as many Volarian cavalry as they could. The Realm Guard cavalry were kept back to secure the flanks of the infantry, which he arranged in a surprisingly compact formation. The lead grouping consisted of just three regiments, standing in close ranks with the rest of the Realm Guard arranged behind and Lord Nortah’s Dead Company, flanked by the loosely ordered mass of barely trained slaves, forming a rear-guard with the Nilsaelin foot. Out in front he placed the Renfaelin knights and Cumbraelin archers.
“I assumed Your Highness wished this matter concluded quickly,” the Battle Lord stated in response to her cautious observation that this order of battle was beyond her experience.
“Quite so, my lord,” she said, watching him ride off with his flag-men and signallers, wondering if she shouldn’t ask Davoka to stay at his side throughout the battle, ready to kill him should this stratagem reveal itself a great, and perhaps deliberate folly. She pushed her misgivings away at the sight of Al Hestian riding along the flank of the army she had given him, seeing the total absorption on his face as he cast his expert eye over their ranks. War is his art, she realised. His one remaining passion. Like Master Benril’s statues or Alornis’s sketches.
Her gaze went to the Lady Artificer, moving among the line of ballistae arranged on a low rise on the left of the army’s line of march. She had voiced a strident objection when Al Hestian advised the engines would not be required for his assault, calmed only slightly at Lyrna’s suggestion they be employed to guard against a counterattack. Enlivened only by the prospect of blood, Lyrna thought, her gaze tracking Alornis’s slim form as she moved from engine to engine.
Lyrna had placed herself at a short remove from the ballistae, under close escort by the remnants of the Queen’s Daggers and the Seventh Order’s most gifted members. The rise offered a fine view of the unfolding drama. The Volarians were approaching in reasonably good order, their front line composed almost exclusively of Varitai, with the Free Swords behind. A large plume of dust rising from the redflower fields beyond their left flank told of a fierce battle already raging between the North Guard and the Free Sword Cavalry, the Nilsaelin lancers streaming towards the struggle at full pelt. A three-battalion contingent of Volarian cavalry could be seen arcing round on the right, presumably with the intention of threatening their rear, but a series of flag signals from the Battle Lord’s attendants soon sent the Realm Guard horse in pursuit, the opposing mass of riders meeting in a headlong charge some three hundred yards short of the rise. Lyrna saw Alornis pacing about amongst the ballistae, face set and fists clenched in frustration as not a single Volarian horseman emerged from the melee to provide a welcome target.