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Swift fly darts from Icar’s bows
Conel’s host to battle goes;
Sword and axe rage through the fray,
Pierce the fight to win the day.
Now the Three hold Asbaln’s line,
Steading under the Dragon-sign,
A wall of swords halts Razak’s hordes;
Now cry ye woe, Hygerian Lords!
-from “Battle at Chaldin”
Artir One-eye of the Midland Plain
With the morning’s light, Asbaln’s host took its long-practiced positions. A little later, a great cloud of dust was rising on the horizon, which hid the Hygerian hosts from their view. By mid-morning, spearpoints glinted along the hill, and a long sigh went down the ranks of Asbaln as each man took a deep breath. A dark mass appeared beneath the spearpoints, poured over the rim of the hill, and suddenly the host of Razak faced that of Conel.
Conel, Rorick, and Phedron sat their horses behind the line.
The wind was at their backs, a light breeze, swirling cloaks and stirring Phedron’s beard. It would add a little to the range of their bows. Conel spoke:
“Once more the sword, again the spear,
To weapons all, the battle’s near.
Once more to strive, then let strife end,
For homeward now our thoughts do tend.”
Rorick answered:
“The heart which in the fight was strong,
And from the striving would not cease,
Longs but for that which is the prize;
The victor’s crown, the life of peace.”
Not to be outdone, Phedron wrinkled his brow, and declared:
“The Seven Hills are shelter sweet,
And may it come to pass,
That I should once more see sunrise
On Homeland’s fair green grass.”
Then, looking at the other two, he said, “Very pretty. Now let us turn our attention to the crowd over there, so that we may survive to make more poetry”
Indeed, it was not much later that the Hygerians sent in their first attack. No cavalry came forward, but only about two thousand infantry. They did not attempt to engage the entire line, but rather struck in several places along the line, feeling for weakness.
Rorick looked at Conel. “We have let too many of their infantry escape in previous battles; they have learned some good lessons.”
Conel nodded, a trifle morosely. “If we win, we will have earned our victory.”
Asbaln’s archers were not idle, but the infantry who reached the line required, as Phedron put it, “all the killing that could be managed.”
The three of them, leaving the general control of the battle to the lower commanders, rode up and down the line, looking for signs of weakening, encouraging the men. There were, along the line, just behind it, small bodies of reserves intended to retrieve the situation if the line were breached.
One small band of Hygerians, who seemed to have no cares for living or dying, flung themselves at the center of the line, forcing it to give way. As it stretched first, then broke under the impact, the attackers redoubled their efforts; a further force from the Hygerian lines set out, obviously intent on taking advantage of the break.
Rorick, Conel, and Phedron came together there, and led some reserves in to stop the gap. They advanced slowly but steadily, thrusting back the Hygerians, who were losing some of their initial fervour.
Even so, it was a near thing. They had just restored the line when the reinforcements struck. These, finding no gap to exploit, flung themselves in, intending to produce another. All they managed to do, however, was to hamper each other. Shortly after this, the entire first attacking force was in retreat.
As though this were a signal, the Hygerian cavalry attacked. The Asbalnian cavalry dashed forward to meet them; those armed with bows rode swiftly toward the foe, turning at dangerously close range to the accompaniment of volleys of arrows, and raced away, shooting as they went.
The Hygerians, pursuing these, were struck by the rest of the cavalry, including Phedron’s lancers, and a swirling melee resulted. Superior training of the Asbalnians eventually overcame the superior numbers of the Hygerians. The Dark ones eventually broke and returned to their own lines.