5.Death of Chaos
XXXVI
Northwest of Renklaar, Hydlen [Candar]
THE FIRST ROCKET flares toward advancing Freetown troops led by the white and cyan banners. As it passes above them, a few soldiers glance upward, but most continue to march up the gentle slope toward the shallow trenches of the Hydlenese.
Another wave of rockets flies downhill toward the mass of Freetown troops. One smashes into the ground less than a dozen cubits before the left edge of the attackers. Scattered fires flare through the troops, and two fall. One man becomes a bonfire. Several others try to roll on the ground to extinguish the flames that threaten to consume them.
More rockets flash downhill from the Hydlenese emplacements, exploding almost in the center wedge of the attackers. Cyan-clad troops lie scattered across the hillside, where bodies, scrub bushes, and browning grass all burn. Plumes of black, white, and gray smoke entwine and circle skyward.
After yet another volley of rockets, a trumpet sounds, urgently, and the attackers begin to retreat, first at a walk, then a run, but another flight of the rockets follows them.
With a series of whistling hisses, another round of rockets flies.
“Archers!” commands Berfir.
Shafts in waves arch downhill, their heavy triangular and barbed heads slashing through flesh and light chain mail.
The black, gray, and white smoke plumes circling upward from the lower part of the hillside thicken.
Another trumpet sounds, and this time, a good dozen squads of horsemen wearing the gold and red plaid of Yeannota swing off the opposite hillside at an angle.
“Shot rockets! Shot rockets!” orders Berfir, but the rocket officer has already turned the carts with the crimson stripe toward the lancers.
Another flight of rockets slams into the retreating foot, followed by a last volley of nigh-arching arrows.
More than tenscore bodies lie below the shallow trenchworks of the Hydlenese.
Berfir watches as the Freetown mercenary horse reaches the flatter slope on his left flank. He nods.
Two heavier rockets arc the short distance toward the horse.
Crummmptt!!! Crummptt!!
Iron discs scythe through the lancers, and the screams or men and horses drown out the sounds of the next set of disc shot rockets.
The heavy-headed arrows pick off the handful of lancers on the hillside, and less than a half squad of stragglers and survivors struggle back to the Freetown lines.
Berfir gestures to the rocket officer, and the rocket-cart launching tubes are angled higher.
The next set of rockets arches into the troops on the other hillside. Another set follows. Shortly, smoke begins to rise from the Freetown emplacements, joining the clouds that have already begun to dim the sun.
Berfir smiles as the cyan and white banners retreat.
“Got 'em good this time, ser,” rasps the rocket officer.
The smile fades from the Duke's face, and he looks tired. “This time, Nual, this time. Thanks to the rockets.”
“You think they'll be getting rockets soon?”
Berfir looks to the northeast, in the general direction of Freetown, although the foot of the Great North Bay on which the port sits is more than a hundred kays away. “Colaris will come up with something. He always does.”
“Mean bastard, he is.”
“In these times, everyone is.” The Duke straightens. “Get the launchers reloaded.”