Styke had always dismissed him as a lunatic.
“What will they expect us to do?” Styke asked, still staring at the edge of the innocuous-looking forest that marked the beginning of the Hock.
Gustar answered straightaway. “They have us heavily in numbers. They’ll expect one of two things: that we’ll make a run for the coast, in the mistaken belief we can find reinforcements from a Fatrastan fleet.”
“Or?” Styke asked.
“Or that we try to hide in the Hock, shake them loose, and double back. They know that we know we’re outnumbered and running out of options. They’ll expect us to use the Hock as our chance to get away.”
Ibana did not seem convinced. “There is a third option: that they know our reputation and expect us to turn and fight at the first opportunity.”
Styke tried to put himself in the shoes of the dragoon commander. She was crafty enough to stay unnoticed all the way across the country and then catch them unawares in ambush. She also—so Styke assumed—had orders to kill Styke. Probably the same orders that Ka-Sedial had given those dragonmen. Would she go around the Hock and expect to catch up on the other side? Would she follow closely on his heels?
“Do we have scouts back from the Hock?” he asked.
“We do,” Ibana reported. “There’s just one major road to the coast. It has one relay station that’s still manned by three Fatrastan troops, which means the Dynize have avoided the place entirely since they landed. So we shouldn’t run into an army in there.”
“And the dragoons haven’t gotten ahead of us?” He looked back to where he’d spotted the scout to their east a few minutes ago, but they had disappeared.
“Absolutely certain of it,” Gustar replied.
His two majors in agreement, Styke realized that rushing headlong into the forest had few consequences. “Bring me your scouts, some paper, and something to draw with. I want to know exactly what the terrain looks like before we head in.”
Three hours later, Styke crouched in the underbrush at the edge of the Hock, looking out onto the road that his troops had passed through not long ago. He could see clearly for almost a mile before the road curved over a hill. It was empty and quiet.
Ka-poel lay beside him, using his looking glass to scan the horizon. Celine was somewhere a couple miles into the Hock with the camp and most of the horses. Ibana and Gustar were each about three hundred yards to Styke’s left and right, respectively, lying in much the same position at the edge of the forest and waiting with bated breath for the Dynize dragoons to show themselves.
When Styke spotted the first scout, he rode not from the east but from the south. The rider came up just a few dozen yards from the edge of the Hock, riding parallel to the forest, peering into the trees as he went. Styke ignored the twinge in his leg and pressed himself lower into the brush as the rider came near.
The rider reached the road—an easy carbine shot from Styke’s position—and stopped. Only a few minutes passed and he was soon joined by another rider from the north and then, crossing the distant hill and coming toward them, a third rider. They joined in conference for a few moments before the first and second riders headed into the Hock, following the trail of the Mad Lancers.
“Let them go,” Styke whispered to Jackal. The command was passed quietly along into the forest.
Styke heard the clop of their hooves disappear and watched the third rider, who seemed content to wait.
Fifteen minutes passed, then half an hour, and then the two scouts reappeared to join their third companion. They conferred once again, and the third took off back down the road. “They’ll report back to their superiors,” Styke whispered to Ka-poel, “that we’re camped roughly two miles into the Hock in an open hollow that would be easily ambushed. The rest of the army will be here soon. I want you to go back to camp and keep an eye on Celine.”
Ka-poel gave him a thoughtful look and got to her feet, hurrying into the forest.
In less than twenty minutes, horses appeared on the horizon. They rode six across, carbines held sharply at the ready. Styke recognized the woman at their head—it was the same officer who’d slaughtered his rear guard and then tried to kill him last week. The column continued to snake down the road, extending for nearly a mile with room between the horses for them to maneuver. Styke guessed that they had a little under fourteen hundred riders, plus pack horses and spares.
They entered the forest so close that Styke could have thrown a rock at that officer. He crouched, his fingers itching to grab for his carbine, and waited the agonizingly long time until the end of their column had entered the forest before finally standing up.
The men around him climbed to their feet and followed him as they headed into the woods, following their tracks back to where they’d hidden their horses a few hundred yards up a slate-carved ravine that wouldn’t easily show their hoofprints. He had just fifty men with him, but they were his very best—lancers who had been with him from the beginning. They reached their horses and donned their Dynize breastplates, mounting up.
“Send the signal,” he ordered.
Jackal cleared his throat and hooted loudly. The call was carried over the next hill, and a few moments passed before it came back to them from both the north and the south.
Styke leaned forward in the saddle, waiting.
Two more sets of hoots eventually followed, and Jackal nodded happily. “They’re in position,” he reported.
Styke allowed a satisfied smile to cross his face and hefted his lance. “Wait until the firing starts,” he said.
They did not have to wait long. Within minutes they heard the first stuttering report of a carbine salvo, followed by the screams of men and horses. Styke flipped Amrec’s reins and allowed the horse to pick his way carefully down the winding ravine, followed by his fifty lancers.
A forest was, as these things went, a terrible place for cavalry to ambush cavalry. There was little room to maneuver for either side, and steep ravines meant an easy fall for a panicking horse. However, it was an excellent place for dismounted soldiers who’d had a chance to hide themselves to ambush an enemy cavalry force—and that’s just the ambush Ibana and Gustar’s men had performed.
Styke reached the end of the ravine and rejoined the main road just in time to see the panicking rear guard of the Dynize cavalry attempting some kind of counterattack. They were in utter disarray—a few had dismounted and leapt behind horses or into the foliage, looking for cover. Some scrambled about in a panic, reloading from horseback, and still others had attempted to charge their horses into the woods only to find themselves easy pickings on the steep banks.
A man with red epaulets stood in his stirrups, waving his carbine and shouting in an attempt to organize his men. Styke’s lance clipped his arm, and Amrec’s shoulder hit the rider’s poor horse, sending both tumbling down into the ravine on the other side of the road. Styke and his lancers entered the thick of the Dynize dragoons, plowing through them with the momentum of a downhill charge, barely slowing to fight as they trampled or scattered everyone in their paths.
They reached a switchback, arresting their charge just enough to turn, and then continued on down into the ravine. The road became a mess of horses and men. Styke traded his lance for a cavalry saber and fought his way to the bottom of the ravine. The road leveled out, giving him a chance to regain momentum, and he and his men surged forward.