Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 43–A Good Day To Die

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Banoch raised an arm as the Preytars approached the column of commoners. When the mercenary horsemen were within a hundred yards of the mob, he gave the signal. Steel rasped against leather as sabers cleared their scabbards, and the Drachnorian cavalry spurred their mounts toward the mass of women and children. So, the game begins.

* * *

Nikolas felt a chill as the Drachnorian horsemen closed on the refugees. His experienced eye measured the distance—there wasn’t any way to intercept the enemy in time. With deft arm movements, he signaled for the Preytars to gather and prepare to charge. The commoners along the edges, who had been watching the Drachnorians with wary looks, began yelling, screams rippled through the crowd, and the mass of humanity, which had, until now maintained cohesion, broke and fled, most for the safety of the approaching Bretagne troops, but some, realizing their proximity to the city gates, ran back.

“Fools,” Nikolas swore as the commoners panicked. Protecting them would be impossible unless they stayed together. So, without waiting for his men to finish gathering, he led them forward. The Bretagne horsemen, under the Earl of Kenit, followed suit, pulled their sabers and charged in two groups, one on either side of the disintegrating column of commoners.

* * *

Britta straightened in her saddle. Her military tutelage as a young royal warred with her instinct to rush to the refugees’ aid. Faline was using the commoners as bait. But why?

Through a spyglass, Katun scanned the horizon and gritted his teeth. “The Drachnorians are attacking the refugees from the city. I cannot believe they would attack unarmed people like that.”

“I would,” Britta said, her voice tight with controlled anger. “This is Faline’s plan to get us to commit to a fight. She’s always been willing to sacrifice innocents for tactical advantage.

 “So what should we do?”

Britta’s fingers tightened on her reins as she weighed her options. “We fight. Order the center of our army to advance and engage the enemy.”

“What about the left and right flanks?”

If Faline had as few troops as she was letting on, why would she so willfully begin a battle? The pieces weren’t fitting together. Moving away from the river would expose their flanks to the valley in the west and the thick forests to the east. Neither of which she had time to scout appropriately. The uncertainty gnawed at her confidence.

“Have the army move forward but keep the wings anchored on the river. We need to protect our control of the river bridge. However, bring the reserves to this side of the river.” Despite the confidence in her voice, her stomach churned. What game was Faline playing?

* * *

Nikolas drew his saber and galloped toward the Drachnorians. Realizing their danger, many of them wheeled to face the approaching Preytars. The opposing lines of horsemen swept past each other, steel ringing against steel as they hacked and chopped at one another in groups and individually. Horses reared up, their screams mixing with the cries of men as riders tumbled to the ground. Hooves crushed the dismounted while others writhed on the ground from sword wounds, their blood darkening the trampled earth.

Despite the mercenaries’ better training and experience, the larger numbers of enemy cavalry evened the odds. Small groups of Preytars trickled into the fight from their extended positions, but it wasn’t enough to turn the tide. Several Drachnorian horsemen swept through the fleeing elements of the refugees, their sabers rising and falling with mechanical precision. For the civilians, cries for mercy were ignored, and death came swiftly.

The ground trembled beneath thundering hooves as the Bretagne cavalry entered the fray, their riders leaning forward in the saddle, sabers drawn. In an instant, the momentum shifted, and the Drachnorians recoiled, now squeezed between both forces.

.* * *

Banoch motioned for the remaining horsemen under his command to enter the fight. Double lines of pikemen and archers rose from the siege entrenchments and began steadily advancing, the cadence of their boots drumming a deadly rhythm on the packed ground.

A mile away to the south, the center of the Bretagnian line moved forward. The long ranks of Bretagne soldiers pressed on toward the battle, their banners snapping the breeze and drums beating a rapid pace. Standing in his stirrups, Banoch strained to get a view of the enemy’s left and right wings. After several chaotic minutes, he spotted them moving forward, but at an agonizingly slower pace than the center.

The additional Drachnorian horsemen stabilized the fight, which dissolved into individual contests and littered the ground with more dead and wounded. Adding to the chaos, scattered groups of refugees attempted to squeeze past the swords of their attackers only to be bumped or stepped on by their rescuers. Despite this, some escaped the chaos and fled south to the safety of the Bretagne lines. But for a few evacuees, either individually or in clusters, luck ran out, and they perished under the bloody, merciless sabers of the Drachnorians.

* * *

Nikolas dodged another slash, and whipped his blade in response, severing his opponent’s head. A rider appeared at his elbow. “Master Nikolas, scounts have returned. Beyond both the right and left flanks, thousands of Nagun are advancing.”

Now Faline’s strategy became clear. “Tell the Queen that Nagun hordes are moving to attack both flanks.” The messenger nodded and fled south.

The First Preytar spurred his horse and plunged into the fray, tightly gripping his sword. The odds had shifted in Faline’s favor.  The question wasn’t whether they would win, but how many of his men would survive.

Breaking free of the melee, he pulled up short. A thin double line of Drachnorians entered the field of battle and halted. Lowering their pikes, the men knelt while the archers drew back their bows. In an instant, a flurry of projectiles swept through the air into the whirling mass of horsemen. Horses and men cried in pain and tumbled to the ground as missiles fell amongst them.

Nikolas felt the arrows strike, one after another, each impact like a hammer blow. The familiar battlefield sounds grew distant as he slumped in his saddle. He thought of his men, the refugees, and all the battles that had led to this moment. A strange peace settled over him as darkness crept in from the edges of his vision. So, today was a good day to die.