Age of War

Chapter 18

Albrihn could hear shouts from all around. Two-thousand soldiers, panicked and trying to organise themselves for battle made a considerable noise, though the fog again seemed to alternately deaden and amplify the sound so that he caught snatches of conversation – invariably furious swearing. Peppered in amongst those ghostly voices were the sounds of weapons being drawn and bows strung. Twangs, scrapes and clangs; the symphony of a camp in tumult before the madness of battle descended. It was impossible to mount a defence of this place and he knew it. He had his own sword in his hand and Morrow was scanning the shifting mist, trying to find a target for her arrow. The shadows that advanced on them failed to present one though, and he could see the frustration on her face. Rykall too was itching to fight. His grotesquely huge sword was held before him and he was turning on the balls of his feet as if a strike would come from within reach of Reaper’s blade. It was futile. Even if they could see the foe coming, they’d be annihilated. The forest was composed of bare, twisted trees, providing only the barest cover. The soldiers were tired and disoriented, most half-dressed, some still scrabbling for weapons. Unconsciously Albrihn began to imagine how he’d repel an assault in ideal circumstances. He could picture where he’d position pike blocks, how he’d set up lines of archers behind them, where he might launch a counter-attack with heavy cavalry. But there was no way to coordinate that, even if he could lay his hands on some of the messengers. All they’d be able to do was fight. He had no fear his troops would disappoint him on that score, but the chances of victory, or even just escape, in this situation were slim.

“You,” he called out, gesturing to the nearest knot of soldiers, a random assortment of archers, pikemen and cavalry who didn’t dare make a run for their horses, tied up in the middle of the camp. Not much to work with, but they looked like veterans of a good few battles. “Form up in loose order – pikes at the front, hold them low. Archers to the rear. Volley on my captain’s command.” He exchanged a nod with Morrow, who rushed over to them and began barking orders. “You lot with the bow legs, you hold the centre. Any of you carrying bows? Get with the archers.” A youngish girl with only a knife in one trembling hand met his gaze with eyes like saucers. He cocked his head at her. “You’re no solider…”

“Messenger, sir,” she squeaked.

“What are you doing here with these cutthroats?”

Her eyes wandered to one of the soldiers, a broad-shouldered lad with a handsome face and a roughish glint in his eye. He shrugged apologetically and hoisted his pike. “Sorry, sir,” she said.

“Don’t apologise – though you might wish you’d gotten more rest before this day’s through.” He gestured along the edge of the forest with his sword. “I want you to find the next group like this one and talk to the most senior man or woman you can find. Tell them to organise everyone around them. You find anyone on their own, you tell them their commander said to go with you and have them reinforce the next unit you come across. Any other messengers, you tell them to do just the same and send them in another direction.”

Her eyes were still wide, but she nodded. “What if…what if there’s some…you know…” She glanced out at the gathering shapes in the fog.

“If you’re attacked, you run. Head towards the centre of the forest where the horses are tethered. Anyone else running, you lead them in that direction too.”

“But I can’t see more than a few strides in front of me, sir,” she protested, “how will I know which way the middle is?”

“Listen for the sound of fighting,” Rykall said, “and head in the opposite direction.”

Albrihn placed a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her shaking. “Do what I told you, and we’ll all have the best chance of getting out of here in one piece. Understand?”