Emrael sat atop his horse, squinting through the late-morning sun at the stone-paved road nestled at the bottom of the gently sloped hills on which they waited, nearly ten leagues from his base camp at the junction of the Sael and Lys rivers. The stone-paved road was in poor shape from half a century of neglect and disuse, but the stones had kept most trees and brush from growing, leaving a relatively bare strip through the dense forest that was clearly visible for leagues from this vantage.
Countless towering evergreens and an occasional hulking hardwood carpeted the sea of gentle hills here in the heart of the Ire Holding. A farmstead or small village interrupted the sea of deep green with patches of brighter green or rich brown here and there along the old road. This was the old country, thousands of leagues of land in any direction full of hardy Iraean folk who had likely rarely seen a Watcher before this campaign on Trylla. Folk who held to the old ways.
He flexed his left hand, testing his injured arm. The deep gash to the outside of the forearm hurt, to be sure, but what concerned him most was the persisting numb feeling and weakness in his hand. Daglund might have been able to do something for him, but had taken such a knock to the head that he still couldn’t see straight. He and everyone else had to settle for the services of ordinary Legion healers back at camp, who thankfully had the necessary apparatus to accelerate healing with infusori coils, but were a far cry from being able to perform the nearly instant miracles of an Imperator Mage-Healer.
Emrael hadn’t been willing to delay his planned raids to undergo such treatment. He would just need to strap a shield tightly to that arm when it came time to fight. There would be time to heal fully when Ban and the people in Trylla were safe.
Jaina sat on her horse next to him in the trees next to a hilltop clearing that gave them a clear view of the road for nearly a league to the north. Their scouts had captured a small Watcher foraging party, and those prisoners had revealed that reinforcements were due from Torrevahle in the north any day now.
Emrael had four thousand of his men arrayed in battle lines all along the road, a ways back into the woods to remain out of sight and to muffle sound. His scouts and several companies of cavalry were positioned in full squads to either side of the road in a broad radius with orders to intercept any Watcher scouts. He couldn’t afford to let any of them give warning.
Worren led another four battalions twenty or so leagues farther to the east, similarly planning an ambush on any forces going to or from Trylla by way of Vahle, Torrevahle’s twin city. They had left Captain Second Durmac Faerwin in charge of the remaining two battalions, tasked with further fortifying and defending the camp back at the mouth of the Lower Sael River. Emrael was taking risks splitting his army into three parts, but outnumbered as he was, risks were necessary.
Just as he was thinking about heading back into the trees to wait with the main body of his troops, ten or so men on horseback appeared on the horizon, traveling the old road at a fast canter. As they drew nearer it became obvious that they wore Iraean green. Emrael sent a Captain Third down to the road to flag them and bring them to where he waited with Jaina, Timan, a squad of Royal Guards, and two more Captains Third who waited to relay commands to the Captains Second who led Emrael’s four waiting battalions.
In short order, the ten scouts made it up the hill and dismounted to rest their horses, who breathed heavily, clearly exhausted. Their sergeant stepped forward to salute as he reported.
“Sergeant Yorley, Lord Ire, First Battalion scouts. Watchers are moving south. Three leagues or so behind us. Near five thousand of the bastards, and a wagon train half a league long. Their scouts should reach here in an hour or so.”
Emrael nodded his thanks. “Excellent work, Sergeant. How many scouts, and in what formation? How is the main body arrayed?”
The sergeant shook his head. “Hard to say about the scouts, Lord. We saw two pair riding less than half a league from their main force, to either side of the road. They have a company riding vanguard few hundred paces in front. The rest of ’em are in ranks marching down the road as easy as you please. Ain’t even carryin’ shields.”
Emrael smiled. “Thank you, Sergeant. One of these Captains Third here will record that you and your squad will each be awarded a copper mark for your success.”
He turned to the Captains Third attending him. “Tell the battalion Captains to line up every bow we have in the trees along the west side of the road just there before it reaches this clearing. They’re to keep at least thirty paces back from the tree line, out of sight. They will hold their weapons until the Watchers are fully stretched along our formation. We need to kill a lot of them with that first volley if we want to even the odds.”
He paused for a moment, looking to Jaina. She surveyed the spot Emrael had chosen and said, “Put soldiers with shields ten paces behind them for cover, they can retreat after the first two volleys and shoot from behind a shield wall.”
Emrael looked back to his Captains Third. “Three ranks ten paces behind them with shields on both sides of the road, pikes every second man in the second rank. Two volleys from the bowmen on the west side of the road, then the ranks advance. I want every crossbow and longbow we have on that line. Third Battalion will have their horse ready to charge the vanguard, First Battalion horse will cut off the retreat. We’re killing or capturing the lot of them.”
The Captains Third saluted and jogged off into the woods. Emrael turned to Sergeant Yorley and his squad of scouts. “I want you to wait here, spread out in pairs across this little valley. Capture any of their scouts that come near, fast and quiet. Put on their uniforms and ride ahead of the Watchers’ main force. Let them see you, but not up close. If they send anyone to fetch a report, ride away calmly. We need to lead them into the trap without letting their scouts find our main body.”
The sergeant saluted and his squad jumped back in their saddles, nudging their poor horses back down the hill and into the trees on the other side of the road.
Emrael and his company of Royal Guards—Timan had been recruiting heavily to bolster their numbers—took position at the northern end of the ranks of foot soldiers that formed up quietly in the dense woods beside the road. The trees nearest the road were newer growth than the giant conifers that dominated the ancient forest farther from the road, and that thick new growth made a perfect screen to hide them from the Watchers riding south on the old road.
A hush fell over the Ire Legion as the sounds of hooves and boots on stone reached them. Soon Emrael could see flickers of motion through the thick brush. The dust kicked up by the column rolled over them, tickling his nose and throat. His scouts had done their job. Or at the very least, the Watchers’ scouts had failed to do theirs.
Emrael held up a hand to remind the men to wait in silence, and his officers relayed the silent signal down the ranks. He grew anxious, waiting for a Watcher to look too closely to either side. The Watcher column continued unabated, however.
The Captain Third who led a company of crossbowmen and regular archers crouched in the bushes just a dozen paces in front of where he and his Royal Guard waited. The Captain Third finally signaled for his men to ready their weapons and they stood, tensed and waiting. He brought his arm down sharply and shouted, “Release!”
The cascade of snapping strings was met quickly by a cacophony of screams and curses. A second snap of strings and wave of screams, and the archers shuffled to get behind the shield wall.
It was time for action.
“Forward ranks!” Emrael shouted. He took a place in the second rank and followed the line of shield-bearing Guards.
They moved through the brush and crossed the shallow trough next to the ancient roadway at a fast walk. The Watchers hadn’t fully recovered from the volleys, which had hit with brutal efficacy at such close range. Hundreds lay bleeding on the ground. Most still standing had stowed their shields with the supply wagons for the march, though a few had retrieved theirs and now tried to cover their friends. Not enough of them, however.
Emrael’s shield wall met a disorganized line of Watchers who, though they outnumbered the Ire Legionmen nearly two to one, had no choice but to retreat. Unfortunately for them, a wall of Ire shields also advanced from the opposite side of the road.
Ire swords and pikes skewered the defenseless Watchers who had now been herded together on the far side of the roadway. Crossbow bolts and arrows still flashed overhead from where the bowmen had remained uphill, now sowing death and panic among the milling Watchers with calculated shots rather than volleys. Some turned to flee back up the road to the north, where the Iraeans had left an open escape route, but most stayed and died as they tried to fight off the ambush.
Battle joy sang in Emrael’s veins and was amplified by the infusori he pulled from his Crafted armor. From his position in the second rank, he thrust his sword through the overlapped shields of his men again and again, stabbing the Watchers that hacked and pushed at the shield wall in vain. His sword soon dripped blood.
He pulled back from the battle line to catch his breath, walking back behind the lines to shout orders to his bowmen who maintained their position on the hillside, calling for them to direct their bolts at the Watchers mounting a resistance to either side of the attacking Iraean shield wall.
As the battle progressed, the shrinking numbers of Watchers contracted into two groups, cut off to the south by the Ire shield wall that had come together and fused ranks to corral the Watchers north, back along the road they had traveled.
The Ire lines pressed forward, using what was now a significant advantage of numbers and support from bowmen still shooting from the hill to wreak havoc on the Watchers. Emrael could tell that the day was theirs, and many of the Watchers had obviously realized it as well. They desperately moved to retreat. Some ran clear of the Ire lines and continued running down the road or into the forest, anywhere they could escape the slaughter Emrael had unleashed on them. Most, however, ran only long enough to get clear and seemed to be trying to form up again, despite being severely outnumbered.
Emrael raised a flag, a signal to the mounted companies on either side of the road to charge the routed Watchers. They slashed with their long sabers as they clashed with the disorganized and shieldless Watchers at the rear of the enemy formations. Men screamed in pain and panic, and suddenly the Watchers lost their nerve. Slowly at first, and then in a wave, they threw down their shields and weapons to run into the trees or dropped to their knees, crying for surrender.
His men were forced to kill a few more Watchers who didn’t realize their comrades had surrendered, but soon the battlefield was quiet save for the screams, sobs, and moans of the wounded. It felt wrong to Emrael to not have fought more himself, but he had to admit that it had probably been for the best. Blood trickled down his forearm in a steady stream from the wound he had taken fighting the Imperator days earlier. It must have torn open during the brief time he had taken part in the battle.
When the wounded had been tended to and the captives had been rounded up, Emrael called for his Captains Third to join him under a small canvas canopy while a Legion healer set up a folding table to restitch his bleeding wound.
“Casualties?” Emrael asked his three battalion leaders without preamble.
The officers exchanged looks before the bearded Captain Second Selvin Varlut, an experienced former officer in the Norta Guard, stepped forward. “One hundred and fifty-seven dead, four hundred and twelve wounded, Lord Ire. Best estimates put Watcher dead at over three thousand, fifteen hundred captured.”
Emrael winced as the man tending his wound cut away the cloth bandage and began to pick the thread out of his torn wound. The edges of the deep gash were swollen and inflamed, especially where the stitches had torn, but thankfully did not smell foul.
He looked back to Captain Varlut. “Excellent, thank you, Varlut. And how many of them fled?”
“Five hundred or so, I’d say, some likely to be wounded. We’ve already sent four parties of cavalry after them, five squads to a party. We’ll make sure they won’t be a problem for us anytime soon, sir.”
Emrael smiled, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his left arm as the healer did his work. “Perfect. And the supplies captured?”
Another of the Captains Second stepped forward. Derril Gunnard, a former Watcher, if he remembered correctly. “Our clerks are still searching the wagons, but it looks like rations. Lots of them. Salted fish, venison, pork, beef, beans, millet, barley, oats, wheat, the usual. Probably meant to feed the entire Watcher army for several weeks.”
Emrael nodded, thinking. “Good. Let them go hungry. Our people trapped in Trylla are probably going to starve first, however, so it doesn’t help all that much. Any weapons, infusori stores, money?”
Captain Second Gunnard shook his head. “Not much, Lord, besides what the Watchers were carrying for themselves and a few wagons of infusori coils meant to recharge their Crafted crossbows, no doubt. We’ve given our men leave to take armor and weapons from the dead and captured as they see fit. The rest will be loaded in the wagons.”
“Well done. See that our bowmen are all outfitted with any infusori-Crafted crossbows recovered, whether they want to trade in their bows or not. Train them quickly. Crafted crossbows are too valuable, too effective to let them go to waste.”
The three Captains Second nodded along with him. They knew their business.
Captain Second Varlut shuffled his feet. “Sir, what do we do with the prisoners?”
His officers knew that they didn’t have plans to stay in any one place for long. This ambush had been designed to draw the Watchers’ attention northward, and to secure supplies. They didn’t have time to deal with prisoners. They were obviously worried about the measures Emrael was willing to take.
He met each of their eyes. “Wounded will go on wagons as needed. We’ll march the rest back to our camp. If any of them lags on the march, take his boots and turn him loose.”
The Captains nodded in speculative appreciation. Gunnard smiled. “I think by the end of the war we’ll have a lot more volunteers from their ranks, Lord Ire. Our boys will have a chat with them on the way, I’m sure. Many of the survivors are Iraean folk. Was the Corrandians who kept fighting the longest.”
Emrael hissed in pain as the healer probed his now-unsutured wound, but then forced himself to match Gunnard’s smile. “I hope so, Captain. Get the men ready to move. I want to be on our way within the hour.”