Book 4, Chapter 38: The Battle For Castle Barclay

Mounted, Brundle and I observed the battlefield.

The Barclay phalanx marched toward ours, shorter spears up, and large, rectangular shields covering half their body. It reminded me of the Roman army, and worried me, since they were the ones to break the sarissa phalanx. But they did so only through combined arms and tactics and not on flat, open plains.

“You see how they’re marching, in an L-shaped formation?”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I see it now. Won’t that expose their leading edge?” The ‘corner’ of the L was heading to a point just right of our midline. It looked to me, naïve me, that those men would face the full force of our phalanx alone.

“It’s a good strategy. The goal is to make our lines ragged, then trap them in as their trailing edges catch up and boxes our phalanx in. Their greater numbers make this work and they will surround our lines if Gun isn’t careful.”

On the smaller line of the L, the enemy’s left flank and on the side of the priests, cavalry backed them up, archers behind those, skirmishers and peltasts to either side.

Half their long line was made of the church’s phalanx, with heavy cavalry on that side, their right flank, as well. Our left, Rand’s cavalry faced them. It was our weakest point, as they did not have full plate. But they did have stirrups and lances, with half being mounted archers.

Their priests were shaking their hands, some with palms toward us. The air around them rippled, becoming slightly off color, a sepia, as if we were looking at the fancily robed figures through an old camera. Our mages were likewise doing their strange dance, but all that resulted was the heatwave-like shimmering in the air around them. No priests exploded, no mages dropped.

Arrow volleys launched into the sky from behind the Barclay phalanx and Brundle ordered ours to do likewise. Both side’s arrows arched up and burst into fire at their zenith, becoming ash in the wind. Our crossbowmen shot into the priests, but the bolts slammed into the almost invisible sepia wall, shattering and falling to the ground.

“Looks like the priests can protect themselves after all,” I said.

“And our mages stopped their arrows.”

The useless volleys ceased from both sides. Our lines got closer and closer together. The Barclay spears dipped, pointing straight at our phalanx. They looked ridiculously short as our much longer sarissa were brought to bear, lowering to aim into the heart of their forces. The lines hit each other. Their L slowly began to straighten out while our line continued to advance solidly.

“Yes!” shouted Brundle. He turned to the flag bearer and horns, “Signal our reserve cavalry to attack. Both flanks.” He shouted again, “Morrentz! Into the right phalanx!”

Then Brundle looked at me, saying, “Look Princess, they’re being crushed against us. Their lines are separated already.”

It was true. The leading edge of the L was annihilated, their line moved in to close the gap, but their spears couldn’t reach our troops. They were simply lining up to be impaled. The first line of our phalanx slammed their sarissa into Barclay infantry, the second line marched past them impaling the next line, our third line advanced, and so on. Perhaps most time-consuming for our troops was dislodging their sarissa from the enemy soldiers and getting back into formation. No wonder Alexander never lost a battle and basically had the same troops with him for his whole campaign.

The enemy infantry were scrambling to retreat. Some dropping their spears and pulling wounded soldiers out of the fray, hobbling away together as best they could. As the first line of our phalanx reached the Barclay fallen, men wounded so badly escape wasn’t possible, they drew short swords to finish them off. My heart dropped, seeing this. I wished they didn’t have to, but they couldn’t leave enemy soldiers alive in their midst. The second line marched on, stopping when it needed to, third line advancing, this leapfrog continuing unstoppable.

Maitlan’s cavalry charged into the disorganized and crumbling enemy phalanx. A small part of me worried for him, then. And I felt bad for our argument, my actions. He wasn’t big and tough like Morry, and still a boy, if fully grown. But his armor and his soldiers would protect him.

A sudden heavy, thumping base drowned out all sounds. The hooves of Morry’s heavy cavalry charge. Lances lowered forward, dirt clumps kicking up behind them, the sun glinting off their plate mail armor. Each rider and horse over two thousand pounds of mass barreling toward the broken Barclay lines.

Seeing their infantry lines collapse, their cavalry raced to stave off the Companion Cavalry charge, to prevent ours from finishing off their phalanx. Well-practiced, they quickly formed a line, turned, holding their spears overhand, overhead, waiting to thrust them forward as was their training.

Yet the Companion Cavalry didn’t stop, nor line up to be targets like all other cavalry in this world. They smashed into the defender’s line. Braced lances burst through the chainmail of the Barclay riders, some shattered, breaking, some of our troops were pushed off their horses from the immense force of the attack, but most pressed on through the ranks, leaving their lances behind in the screaming, dying bodies. They pulled out their greatswords and began swinging.

The enemy cavalry was a mess. Riderless horses raced away, some rearing up and striking anyone below, wide eyed and angry, or terrified, I didn’t know. Some of the men sat up, holding onto broken lances in their chest, before falling again. Others, crawling away as they could.

I watched Morry swinging his greatsword into men right and left, still pushing forward, unstoppable. His forward line, the best of his troops, were at his side, making equal progress, not even needing to use a wedge formation. A few of our horses fell to enemy spears, but our men got up, strode into battle with their swords, all but ignoring enemy weapons. Their plate armor was so protective as to be untouchable. The enemy soldiers simply didn’t know how to deal with it. They fell and fell, were driven back, soon giving up and fleeing.

“Princess, I am sending in our reserve to attack the priests.” He signaled the rhinos and reserve phalanx to charge. The rhinos, facing the priests as it was, would get there sooner than the marching infantry crossing the battlefield from the left of us.

“By all means.”

I’d thought the heavy cavalry were loud, but they were nothing compared to the thunderous beat of those terrifying beasts. Clouds of dirt kicked up behind them, darkening the air pulled along in their wake, like a crazed nightmare in a horror movie.

Our phalanx marched on, their troops began to run. Fear rushed up and down their lines and soldiers began tossing their weapons, others throwing them at our soldiers desperately before running, infantry nearly in full rout.

Their reserve cavalry raced to get in front of the priests. They easily outnumbered our forty rhinos, but rhinos are massive, enormous beasts and they simply crushed through the cavalry lines as if they were made of foam. Those horsemen outside the direct reach of the rhinos faced repeated, heavy crossbow fire as our Laemacian contingent went to work.

Some horses bolted in fear, heedless of their riders, but their remaining heavy cavalry closed ranks behind the rhinos, raced at their rear. Their light cavalry began a barrage of arrows toward the charge, which got through and began raining on their armor. Crossbowmen on the rhinos answered with bolts, punching through armor, downing men, but they were heavily outnumbered and couldn’t shoot as quickly.

“Brundle? Looks like missiles are back in play.”

Brundle shouted at the signalers, “Get the archers and crossbowmen loosing on those light cavalry!”

Our ranged marched forward, closing the distance. Their arrows mostly bouncing off armor but proving a constant distraction. Some of their light cavalry wheeled around and charged our archers. As they got closer, the crossbow regiment, in a W formation, began firing, their bolts straight into them as if ignoring their armor.

Less bolts were loosed toward the enemy than they loosed arrows at our forces, but the crossbows were far more effective, penetrative. Enemy riders fell over, others slumped on their horses, and their charge became disorganized, most of them retreating behind their peltasts and skirmishers who, holding small and medium shields up, did their best to put up a shield wall and began slowly advancing on our ranged.

Our own peltasts and skirmishers waited on either side of the archers and crossbow, and in between them, the peltasts also slinging their stones into the opposing troops.

They still had greater numbers and our cavalry was well in front of our ranged at this point, so I worried that they might get through. “With their line collapsing, I want our phalanx to attack the church’s troops, break up that cavalry, see if we can box up their priests.”

Brundle tilted his head, then gave the signal. “Princess Cayce, perhaps we should request a surrender? After the war rhinos push through the clergy, I mean. That will be the end of the fight in them. These are men of your kingdom we are fighting.”

“Alright, yes,” I shook my head. I’d been too engrossed in the battle to think straight. Our mission wasn’t to destroy them, but to force a surrender, “Yes, please, demand their surrender.” However, I had no idea how that was accomplished while in the midst of a battle. All troops were committed, on both sides.

To the right, our crossbowmen were firing, lockstep, into the peltasts and skirmishers, which stopped their advance. With the smaller shields and lighter armor, those troops didn’t have much of a chance and were falling into defensive positions quickly, turtling with shields up in front and above them as they squeezed together. It was like watching a slow-motion machine gun aimed at a hill of dartboards.

Then the leading rhinos crashed into and through the priests, the air on their side suddenly cleared up, free from the blurring effect of their defenses. The priests scattered, some running, some riding off, and bolts of lightning fell from the sky into them. Bodies burst and robes lit up aflame, char wafting in the air. Fleeing, they were torn apart by our mages.

“We’ve achieved the magical advantage. I ask that you take their surrender, my lady.”

“Yes, recall . . . recall our troops.”

Our heads turned as the ravens cawed as one and took to the air. A wave of inky black streaming into a circle above the battlefield and suddenly I felt flush, like I could run all day, do a dozen triathlons, the energy building in my hands, my horse stamped its hooves, and I knew it would burst out all over me, light me up. I closed my eyes, pushed the sounds around me away and tried and tried to hold it in.

“Princess Cayce?” Brundle asked.

I opened my eyes. No energy coursing up and down my arms, no fires dancing across my hands – but I wanted so badly to let it! Release it! Become the fiery tornado I was atop that tower, glorious and deadly, announce my power to all!

I shook and trembled, spoke through clenched teeth, “Yes . . . Go!” Hands shaking as I struggled against my desires, the magic, the power, “Go! Pull back and reform. Arrange for their surrender – now!”

“Are you ok?”

I concentrated on speaking and hoped he thought me moved by the battle, “Brundle, damnit, men are dying. Go.”

“I will. And Princess Cayce?”

“Yes!” Trying to hold the energy in and not shake, while endless ravens and crows circled across the battlefield and in my mind, calling and calling the power out, these birds, my birds, my avatars, singing to me, praising me, demanding of me to unleash my just and holy wrath.

Brundle was saying something that ended with, “. . . wrong to doubt your new weaponry.”

“Go, please. Quickly. The surrender.”

He bowed, “Your Highness.”

Fearing I’d blast poor Cloud, I slid off the horse, falling into the dirt and weeds on my hands and knees, shaking. In front of my fingertips and under my palms, grass and herbs sprouted from the soil.

“Your Highness?” One of my guards approached, “Are you alright?”

With the most concentration I could muster, trying and trying to keep the energy from bursting forth, I managed to get out, “I’m fine.” I somehow forced myself to sit, crossing my legs, pretending for all the world like this was somehow normal.

He took me by the arm and I flinched, “No!”

“I’ll just help you up.”

“Leave me!”

He let go, “My lady.”

I felt the perseidian iron touching my skin, pushed my mind onto the beach and listened to the waves and the breeze and followed every trick that Etienne had shown me, that I’d practiced alone, forcing the energy down and away, the calling and pleading and praising of the birds shut out and ignored, until my hands finally stopped shaking and the soft soil and new green grass I sat upon, the blue sky and white clouds above returned, and the screams and cries of men.

***

“Your Highness,” a soldier rode up, “Duke Barclay has fallen.”

It had taken time, but somehow, I’d gotten control of the energy, caging it by concentrating on the world around me, desperately holding the perseidian iron, willing it to work, enough that I could feel myself returning to normal. “What? What did you say?”

“The duke, the Barclay duke is dead.”

“Damn.” I looked away. My stomach was queasy. Shouts of pain, screams, over in the hastily erected hospital tents. Already, a line was leading up to them. And lengthening.

“The Barclay soldiers surrendered, ma’am. We are in the process of dividing their forces and securing their weapons and horses. Their officers are under guard.”

“All this, all of it, was pointless.” I shook my head.

The birds, the ravens and crows, had calmed. No longer did they caw and cackle, and higher did they fly, way up in the sky, near the clouds, perhaps challenging the gods. Frightening them. I took a deep breath, held it for four seconds, counting, and let it out slowly.

“My lady?”

Normalcy returning to my body, once again in control, I shakily rose to my feet, saying, “They should have surrendered from the start.” Yeah, he was looking at me like I wasn’t human. Normal, sure, I’m a normal princess just hanging out on the fields where the only green grass is, ‘cause it literally grew from my own hands, clutching my jewelry, gently rocking back and forth, practicing yoga. God, I hoped he didn’t see anything.

Or, if he did, the rumors would be favorable to our friends, frightening to enemies.

“I don’t know, uh, wash the body, put him in a cart and bring him here. I mean, bring him to the command tents. Cart. Right, we don’t have any. You’ll have to take one from the Barclay forces. We’ll escort the body to the castle.” I looked at the hospital tents. More being set up. I wished I could help tend the wounded, but was needed here. The hospital couldn’t have people constantly running in and out of it, asking me for instructions.

“My lady,” he breathed in, “we have also rounded up the highest-ranking officers yet alive.”

“Alright.” I sighed and removed my helmet. Was it the second time he’d told me that? The thing about being leader, everyone around you wants to be led instead of making useful decisions. “Yeah, great, take me to them.”

“Not without me, you aren’t.” Blood all over him, dripping off his shoulder plates and gauntlets, the big man was walking his horse toward our position.

“Morry!” Dropping the helmet, I rushed over to the big man, stopping in front of him, and placed my hands on my hips. I badly wanted to take his hands in mine, hug him, but worried I’d blast him into bits with a discharge, “I’m so very glad to see you without any spears sticking out of your belly.”

He smiled, briefly, “I’m also glad for not having spears sticking out of my belly.”

“Jerk! You did good.”

“This armor, Princess. Incredible. It deflects arrows and spears equally. I was unstoppable in it.”

“I bet it was the necklace that protected you.”

It sat on his chest plate in a sea of blood, twinkling in the sun. He touched it. “May have indeed. It definitely distracted a few soldiers. They got to see one last pretty thing in this world.”

“Ah.”

He looked past me, over my shoulder, so I looked back. A clump of vibrant, young green in a fallow field, where I had sat.

“Come,” I said, “let’s go talk to the highest-ranking Barclay officer yet living.”

“I take it your husband is dead.”

“I guess that makes me a widower. Seriously, though, how am I going to face Sapphire now that I’ve killed her brother?”

“You didn’t kill the man. His bad choices did.”

“Boy, Morry, he was just a boy.”

“By that logic, you’re just a girl.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“No, Princess, you are right. You are much, much more than a girl.”

“I’m not going to take off the jewelry or anything, you don’t have to worry.” As if the jewelry did anything for me, I thought to myself. Maybe. Maybe the iron helped.

He held up an armored hand, “I wasn’t speaking about your magic.”

I blushed. Like, red in the cheeks blushed. Hoped the late afternoon sunlight covered that up. “Morry, just,” I held my hands up to my steel breastplate, “you know these aren’t real!”

He didn’t quite smile, but there was a twinkle in his eyes, “Shall we make our way to the command tents?”

“Are they up yet?”

“Probably being erected as we speak.”

“Did you have to use that word? In particular?”

“Princess, I am aghast at your suggestiveness today. It must be the excitement of the battle.”

“Morry! Let’s just go.”

***

We arrived to find a few soldiers in finely woven, high quality chainmail armor, with insignias of the Barclay family. They were stripped of their weapons, though, and surrounded by our men, swords and spears at the ready.

“On your knees!” behind them, a few soldiers, now guards, forced them to the dirt.

“Hey, no, stop that. That’s not necessary.” I walked up to them, slightly annoyed face to the guards.

“Apologies, Your Highness.”

“Get these men some water or ale, whatever they want. You know what, let’s just head over to one of the tents.” I walked toward the open-air tents that must have been just put up. Then, stopped as no one followed. I looked back at them, still standing under guard, and motioned them to follow, “Well, come on! Gentlemen, into the tents, please.”

***

Soon, servants brought in pottery jugs of ale, mugs. Picking up one, I poured for the five Barclay officers, handing them each a mug in turn.

“Thank you, my lady,” said one of the men. The others looked at him with dour faces.

“For sure. Gentlemen, if you would.” I sat down.

One of their officers, trembling, dumped his ale out on the ground. “Girl, I’ll not take sustenance with you.”

“Alright. Take him out, put him with the other prisoners of war.” Soldiers grabbed him, led him out of the tent. “Anyone else want to leave?” No one volunteered. One took a sip, I guess to show support. For ale or me, I didn’t know, didn’t care. “Right then, let’s get down to business. Last chance to scream at me.”

The four of them shook their heads.

“I consider this war a fault of the priesthood here. And the dowager. I believe both of these elements corrupted the Barclay family. I want you to know that I still consider these lands part of my kingdom and therefore you men, my soldiers.”

“And?”

“And I want you to convince your fellow soldiers to stand down and hand over the castle.”