The Oracle's Queen (61 page)

The fog slunk around their feet in tattered shreds as the two main wings formed up. It hung in the nearby trees like smoke as the standards were unfurled on their long poles.

Tamír and her guard had the center, with a company of Atyion archers on either side and three companies of men-at-arms just behind. Kyman had the left flank, with the cliff on their left. Nyanis' wing stretched to the trees. Both wings had blocks of archers on the outside and men-at-arms toward the center, bracketing Tamír's archers. Jorvai's fighters formed the reserve wing, to the rear, but his archers would send their shafts over the heads of those in front of them.

Each marshal had his banner, and each captain. Once battle was joined, each company would rally to their own standard, to move as one in the inevitable noise and confusion.

Tamír's front line was just out of bowshot range of the hill. They could hear the sounds of Korin's army approaching.

“Archers. Set stakes,” she ordered, and the captains passed it on down both sides of the line.

Half the archers in each company set their pointed stakes into the ground at an angle facing the enemy. It formed the “hedgehog,” a widely spaced hedge of sharp points hidden among their ranks like quills in fur.

They were still busy putting the last deadly touches to the points when a cry went up from the rear ranks.

“We're being flanked! Tell the queen, we're being outflanked!”

“Hold your positions,” Tamír shouted, then started for the rear.

“Damn it, he must have moved people through the forest,” Ki said, following as Tamír shouldered her way back through the lines.

The mist had thinned. They could see the dark mass of an army approaching, preceded by four riders coming on at a gallop.

“Could be heralds,” said Ki. He and Lutha stepped in front of her to cover her with their shields nonetheless.

As the riders drew closer, however, she recognized the
foremost. It was Arkoniel, and he was waving and shouting. She didn't recognize the others, but saw that they were armed.

“Let them come,” she ordered, seeing that some of the archers were nocking shafts to their strings.

“They've arrived!” Arkoniel shouted, reining in. “The Aurënfaie. They're here!”

The other riders with him swept off their helms. It was Solun of Bôkthersa and Arengil, together with an older man.

The stranger bowed in the saddle. “Greetings, Queen Tamír. I am Hiril í Saris, of Gedre. I have command of the Gedre archers.”

“I have a company from Bôkthersa. Forgive us for coming so late,” said Solun. “The Gedre ships stopped for us, then we had foul weather on the crossing.”

“It threw us off course. We landed down the coast from your harbor yesterday,” Hiril explained.

“We've brought you food and wine, and two hundred archers from each clan,” said Arengil. He took a small scroll from inside his tabard and handed it down to her with a proud grin. “And I have the permission of my father and mother to become a Companion, Queen Tamír, if you'll still have me?”

“Gladly, but for today, I think it would be better if you stand with your own people.”

Arengil looked a bit crestfallen at that, but he pressed his hand to his heart, Skalan style.

Tamír quickly explained her plan to Solun and Hiril and had them position their archers in the center of the third rank.

As she and the Companions returned to their position on the front line, the sound of a great commotion came from the hill. Korin's men were beating their shields and shouting war cries as they advanced to their places. It was a daunting sound, and grew louder as the first ranks appeared out of the morning mist.

“Answer them back!” Tamír shouted. Ki and the others drew their swords and beat them against their shields, shouting, “For Skala and Queen Tamír!”

The battle cry spread through the ranks in a deafening roar that continued as Korin's army massed above them.

When the shouting died away the two armies stood facing each other at last. Korin's banner was at the forefront of his line and Tamír could see his red tabard.

“Isn't that Duke Ursaris' banner over there?” said Ki. “The one you sent packing?”

“Yes,” Lutha replied. “There's Lord Wethring's banner, on the left. That's Duke Syrus and his archers on the right. Korin's sure to rely mostly on horse, though, and his men-at-arms, since he has the most of those.”

“Where's General Rheynaris?” asked Ki.

“He fell at Ero. Caliel said that none of these others are near the tactician he was.”

“That's good news for us, then.”

“He still has Master Porion,” Barieus pointed out.

“Bilairy's balls, I hope none of us will have to face him!” Barieus murmured, speaking for all of them.

“Shit,” Lutha muttered, still staring up the hill.

“What is it?” Tamír asked.

“On Korin's right. Don't you see them?”

Tamír shaded her eyes and looked. “Shit!”

Even at this distance, she recognized the golden-haired rider.

It was Caliel. And there, between him and Korin, was Tanil.

“Lutha, you and Barieus have my leave not to fight him, or Tanil,” Tamír told them. “I won't ask that of you.”

Lutha shook his head grimly. “We'll do what we must, when the time comes.”

K
orin's herald cantered down to the base of the hill, and Tamír's went out to meet him. They spoke briefly, exchanging intentions, then rode back to their lines.

“King Korin requires that you surrender or fight, Majesty. I gave him the same message to carry back as you instructed.”

Tamír had expected nothing less. “You may withdraw.”

“Illior give you victory, Majesty.” The herald saluted her and rode off down the line. Heralds were sacred in battle, as well, and would observe the combat and carry word of the outcome.

C
aliel sat his borrowed horse in his ill-fitting armor, his torn back sore under the rough shirt he'd been given. He cared nothing for the discomfort, though, as he gazed down at the opposing line with a heavy heart. He found Tamír at the center, just as he'd expected, and on foot. There were Ki and Lynx, too. Hoping against hope, he searched the other faces close to her, and his heart sank as he found Lutha.

Closing his eyes, he sent up a silent prayer to Sakor,
Keep me from them on the field
.

He owed Korin his loyalty, but he owed Lutha and Barieus his life, and Tanil owed his to Tamír, though he still did not grasp that they were facing her. Korin had tried to leave him behind with the baggage train, and even considered tying him up, but Tanil had wept and pleaded, thinking it was because he'd been disgraced.

“Let him come,” Caliel said at last. “He's strong enough to fight. And if he falls? That's kinder than leaving him as he is now. At least he'll die a man again.”

Looking at Tanil now, he knew Korin had been right to agree. He looked more alert and alive than he had since Caliel had found him again.

As he watched Tamír's banner fluttering below, however, his own doubts warred with duty, making him vaguely ill. Korin would not hear the truth about Tamír, and Caliel's oath kept him silent.
But what if she is a true
queen?
His conscience spoke with Lutha's voice.
What does it mean for us if we go against the true queen?

He looked at Korin again and sighed. No, he'd made his choice. He would stand by it, come what may.

S
tanding at Tamír's right hand, Ki's heart swelled as he looked around. Lynx, Una, Nikides, and their squires formed a square around them, every one of them fearless and ready. He saw the same determination in the faces of the soldiers. Grannia and the women of her guard gazed fiercely up at the other army—an army they would not have been welcome in. He wondered where Tharin was, and if he'd been victorious. Only the thought of Caliel and Porion in that other line gave him pause, but he pushed regret aside. They'd all made their choices.

A hush fell over the field. He could hear men talking in Korin's ranks, the sound of coughing from their own. The rising sun was a faint white disk behind the clouds. In the forest, birds were waking up, their songs mixing with the measured sigh of the sea against the cliffs. It was strangely peaceful.

An hour passed, then two as Tamír and Korin waited for the other to make the first move. In his lessons on battle, their old teacher Raven had said that this was one of the hardest parts of a battle, the waiting. Ki had to agree. The day was turning heavy, making him sweat in his damp clothing. His empty belly rumbled under his belt and his throat felt sore.

Another hour passed, and the two sides began to trade taunts. But Tamír stood silently, gaze fixed on Korin, who'd dismounted to consult with some of his generals.

Nyanis walked up the line to join them. “He's not going to move.”

“Then we'll just have to make him,” Tamír replied. “Ready your archers. Grannia, pass the word down to Kyman's wing.”

The shout went down the line, and was answered by
the rattle of quivers being made ready. Ki unshouldered his and set an arrow to the shaft.

T
amír drew her sword and held it up, shouting, “Archers forward!”

The entire front line rippled as the archers ran to close the margin of flight with the enemy line. The rear ranks had moved up, too, keeping the stakes hidden.

The archers let fly, aiming high and sending a deadly hail of arrows down on the heads and upraised shields of Korin's line. The enemy's taunts turned to curses and cries of pain, mingled with the screams of wounded horses.

Tamír stood with her standard-bearer as the Companions and archers loosed shaft after shaft. Arrows fell like dark rain and continued for several minutes, as the archers loosed at will, then retreated to their original positions.

On the hill, horses were rearing and bolting. Korin's banner wavered but did not fall. The line remained firm and, just as she'd hoped, the first attack began.

K
orin saw Tobin advance on foot. That blue banner mocked him as he huddled under his shield and Caliel's, fending off the whistling onslaught of arrows. Three struck his shield, jolting his arm, and another glanced off his mail-covered thigh.

Porion's horse and Garol's were hit and threw them. Urmanis threw out his shield arm to protect his fallen squire, then tumbled backward out of the saddle with an arrow jutting from his throat. Garol crawled to him, and held him as he clawed at the shaft.

“Get him to the rear,” Korin ordered, wondering if this, too, was a bad omen.
Another taken from me!

“Look, Majesty, they've fallen back,” said Ursaris. “You must answer with a charge before they shoot again. Now's your moment, Majesty!”

Korin drew his sword and brandished it, signaling Syrus and Wethring's cavalry to charge from the wings.

With blood-chilling war cries, they booted their horses and flew down the hill, bearing down like a great wave on Tobin's line. The front line of men-at-arms followed at a run.

“Look, they're already breaking!” Alben whooped as Tobin's smaller force immediately pulled back.

But the ranks didn't break and run, they only fell back to expose a bristling hedge of angled stakes that the charging riders saw too late. Meanwhile, another thick volley of arrows rose from the rear, falling with deadly certainty among the charging riders. Men were knocked from the saddle or went down with their horses. Others in the forward ranks, unable to halt in time, were thrown as their mounts impaled themselves on the stakes, or reared and bolted. Others foundered inexplicably or fell over the downed ones and were trampled by those still charging.

The charge held, even so, and clashed against Tobin's front line. The center bowed and Korin had a moment's hope as Tobin's standard veered wildly. But her line held and surged forward again, catching Korin's cavalry between the press of his own men-at-arms as their line caught up. Boxed in between the forest, cliffs, and Tobin's strong line, his own fighters were packed tight as a cork in a bottle. Another volley of arrows rose from Tobin's rear ranks, arching over Tobin's line to rain death among Korin's stymied forces.

J
ust as Tamír had hoped, Korin's advance force was crowded together as they charged, and their headlong rush made it impossible for the frontmost to avoid the stakes, mud, and holes they'd prepared to catch them. As the Aurënfaie archers loosed their second volley, the carnage increased and the air was filled with the screams of wounded horses and the cries of their riders. It did not
stop the charge, only slowed it a little and created confusion.

“Defend the queen!” Ki yelled, and the Companions closed in around her as enemy riders came on.

Her archers dropped their bows and fought with swords or the mallets they'd used to drive the stakes. The blocks of men-at-arms surged forward, unseating riders with their pole arms or pulling them from the saddle to be dispatched with swords and clubs. Already at a disadvantage, Korin's own charging line of foot caught his riders even tighter.

“For Skala!” Tamír cried, rushing into the fray.

T
here was no question of holding back. Ki kept close to Tamír as he met the enemy with drawn sword.

It was like hacking at a wall of flesh, and for a while it seemed they were going to be driven back. The clamor of battle was deafening.

Tamír stood fast, yelling encouragement and urging them all forward as she laid about with her sword. Her blade caught the light with a red gleam. Trapped in the press, her standard-bearer fell, but Hylia caught the pole as it wavered, and held it high.

It seemed to go on forever; but at last the enemy fell back, making a ragged retreat across the stream, leaving hundreds of their own dead or dying on the trampled ground. Aurënfaie arrows followed them, slaughtering the hindmost as they tried to scale the hill again.