Champion of the Last Battle

II

Atop the crest of the ridge nearest to the larger stream, in the driest spot he had found—beneath a rock overhang and but bare yards from a Skohshun watchpost—the prairiecat Whitetip observed the enemy camp occupying the tops of the two hills on the other side of the vale. His keen hearing, however, did the yeoman share of his “observation,” for his was not the long-distance vision of a hound, though he could see better in dim light than hound or horse or man.

He could, for instance, see the forms of the large body of men working in and about the small, swift stream at a point just past the narrowest part of the smaller vale that separated the hills and entered the larger vale at a right angle. He could not see well enough, however, to be certain just what the men were doing. His ears told him of vast splashings in the water, groans and gasps of effort, cursing and occasional shouts in tones of command.

The camps themselves seemed quiet, with most of the host sunk in sleep, after having fed heavily on roasted meat and grain porridge. Now and then, here and there, a horse stamped or whickered, oxen lowed or small rocks shifted under the feet of pacing sentries. With a single exception, all that was visible of the hilltop camps through the dark and the misty rain was the dim and flaring glows of the torches that marked out the camp perimeters.

The exception was at the center of the westernmost camp to Whitetip’s left. There, the environs of several large tents blazed inside and out with the light of torches and lamps and battle lanterns. The figures of men, tiny with the distance, scuttled hither and yon like beetles over a fresh cowpat. Whitetip could dimly discern the rattling and clinkings of their weapons and armor and spurs, the creaking of their leather goods as they moved; but the distance was just too great to strain out speech from all the other noises.

“The only known way to completely waterproof boots is to first grease all the seams, then coat them with hot tar ... and we have no tar, either hot or cold. That little brook runs cold as ice, brigadier, and if my pikemen have to stand in that running water for longer than a few minutes, every one of them will notonly be in agony, but useless for any quick movements in any direction.”

The aged officer looked up from where he sat before the large map his staff had prepared for this meeting, smoothed his flaring mustaches with the back of his thumb in an unconscious gesture and asked in a mild tone which was belied by the glare fixed on the speaker from beneath his shaggy brows, “Yes, colonel, we all know well that mountain brook water tends to run cold, that infantry boots tend to leak unless tarred and that living flesh and bone immersed in cold water tend to become numb. But what, pray tell, would you suggest? That we leave a gap in our pike hedge, mayhap?

“Your regiment still was holding the point of embarkation on the north bank when last we fought these Kuhmbuhluhners, colonel, but surely you are aware of how very close they came to breaching our hedge last autumn. They are the most dangerous foe we have come across in many a long decade, and God is to be thanked that there are so few of them. But, few as there now are, were we to give those feisty bastards such an opening, I doubt me not they’d be rolling up one or the other of our wings from inside out in a trice, and more than your pikemen’s feet would become cold and stay that way with bellies full of steel and all their blood run out.”

The old man paused, and, prominent Adam’s apple working, he downed a good half of his pint jack of beer. Sir Djaimz, the senior colonel, chose this moment to say a few words, hoping to soothe some of the sting of his superior’s bitterly sarcastic comments.

“Colonel Potter, we all of us recognize and appreciate your insistent solicitude for the welfare of your pikemen. It is an attitude that all of your peers and subordinates would do well to emulate. But Brigadier Sir Ahrthur has given the matter his usual well-thought-out planning and rigorous attention to details. He and the earl and I have discussed this projected action at great length, and the course he has recently outlined to you all is the sum of our mutual thoughts. However, as no man or group of men can ever hope to be all-knowing, we still remain open to suggestions ... ?”

The officer so addressed drew his big-boned, beefy frame up to its full five-foot-six and said, a bit hesitantly, “Well ... ahhh. Well, why not fill the streambed with stones and overlay them with planks or adzed-flat tree boles, eh? Not only would the ranks have a firm, relatively dry footing, but they’d be a bit above the horsemen.”

“Which would also put them a bit above the flanking units,” put in another of the assembled officers, “thereby making the hedge uneven and vulnerable at the two joints. Besides, what you suggest would serve to dam the brook and turn what little level ground exists into a quagmire of cold mud.”

Colonel Potter shrugged. “What of it, sir? We could just form up a short distance north of that soft ground, then. It would certainly slow any cavalry charge at our front and might even necessitate that these Kuhmbuhluhners dismount and come at us afoot.”

“You had better hope and earnestly pray, colonel, that such as that never happens,” intoned the brigadier solemnly. “Get it through your head, man, these Kuhmbuhluhners are not the speedy lancers and lightly armed foot of the Ohyoh folk; rather do they war in full—or, at worst, three-quarter—plate armor. And on those thankfully rare—else none of us would be here today!—occasions when our formations have been broken in hand-to-hand combat, it was done by just such as these folk, on foot.”

“But ... but, Sir Ahrthur,” yelped one of the youngest of the assembly, “save for the cowardly attacks of bowmen or dartmen or slingers, our hedges are invulnerable in the defense and invincible on the attack. Everyone knows that.”

The brigadier briefly showed worn teeth. “Whose puppy are you, youngster? Oh, one of Colonel Alpine’s aides, eh? Well, spout that sort of propaganda to the other ranks as often as they’ll stand still for it, but if you start believing it yourself, I doubt me you’ll live long enough for your voice to finish changing.

“Invulnerable? Pah! Invincible? Twiddle! Were we either, why do you think we are not still living on our rich, hard-won lands up in the Ohyoh country, instead of hunkering on stony mountains and making ready to fight for such poor land, atop it all? Our entire racial history, ever since the Greeks drove our ancestors out of their rightful homes, has been a succession of fight-win-hold for a while, then fight-lose and move on to fight again.

“We have honed our skills over the generations, developed new ones in some cases, and that we average more wins than losses is the sole reason we still exist as a people. But never ever doubt for one minute that we are vulnerable, my boy, for we are, we are terribly vulnerable—lightly armored foot soldiers always are.”

“This is probably no time to broach the matter,” put in Colonel Bruce Farr, “but with all the armor we captured at the fortress-valley or have stripped off slain or wounded foemen in the last few campaigns, we could easily have put at least the first two or three ranks in half- or even three-quarter-armor, as we did the short-polemen and the horsemen. Instead, most of that fine armor lies baled up or locked in chests awaiting God knows what, while our pikemen still do their fighting in nothing more than breastplates, ring-sewn gauntlets, steel caps and boots fitted with horn splints for greaves.

“Now, I know, I know, I’ve heard it all before. It’s a tradition that Skohshun pikemen need no walls about their towns or armor on their bodies, the pike hedge serving for both. But how many dead and maimed pikemen has this hoary, overhallowed tradition cost us over the years, brigadier?”

The old officer heaved himself to his feet with a crackling of joints and, as he strode stiff-leggedly toward the entry, said, “Would you care to answer the good colonel, Sir Djaimz? My bladder seems to shrink with increasing age.”

The senior colonel nodded to his superior, then said, “Look you, Colonel Farr, one of the dearest values of Scotian pikemen is that, in formation mind you, they can move almost as fast as mounted heavy horse, but they would lose this definite advantage were we to weigh them all down with upward of fifty pounds of steel. Nor could our pikemen rapidly withdraw burdened with even half-armor. As all here know, they are neither trained for nor expected to engage in breast-to-breast encounters; that’s what the horsemen and the short-pole-men are for. They are expected to be simply one more thorn in the hedge, doing what damage they do at a distance of no less than twelve feet from the foe, and if the hedge be sundered and cannot be speedily closed, they are expected to drop their pikes and withdraw as rapidly as possible, not try to take on armored and/or mounted foemen with a shortsword and a breastplate alone for weapon and protection. No new pike hedges can be fashioned of dead heroes.

“However, Colonel Farr, you may well be the voice of our future, do we stay hereabouts. The armaments and tactics I have just detailed were fashioned in and for the flatter, less forested terrain of those lands we just quitted. Maneuver on any broad scale is difficult if not impossible of successful accomplishment amid these thick-grown hills and stony mountains and narrow, twisting little vales. Does tomorrow’s battle not win these lands for us, perhaps we will find it expedient to sacrifice unneeded speed for needed protection and put our pikemen in more steel.”

Beyond the yellow-red glow of the bright-lit tents of the noblemen and officers, lulled by the powerful soporifics of a long march, a heavy meal and extra beer rations, those of the Skohshun pikemen not guarding the perimeter or laboring in the vale slept deeply. Most of them were veterans, and battles and battle eves were nothing new to them—if they proved destined to die on the morrow, then die they would; if not, then life would go on.

The long pikes and the other polearms of each battalion stood stacked about the huge, thick pole of the unit device. The polished hardwood of the hafts reflected the wind-whipped light of the torches and watchfires, but most of the steel points were far above that guttering light so that only the occasional rising errant spark brought a glint in the bright white steel.

Grouped about each stack Of polearms and pikes, in orderly lines, the pikemen rolled in their cloaks, their heads pillowed on their marching packs. Their breastplates, helmets, shortswords and dirks lay ready to hand for any sudden nocturnal alarum, though properly covered from the damp dews of the night. Every man’s heavy boots stood in their assigned place, flanked by his horn—and-hide greaves.

Within five minutes or less, a regiment of sleeping Skohshun pikemen could be up and fully armed and in their ordered formation to repel attack. Within twenty minutes, all save the rearguards could have struck camp and been on the march. Inured almost from birth to fast, cross-country hiking, the Skohshun regiments could and often did cover better than twenty-four miles in a day’s march.

Atop the ridge just south of those hilltop camps, a very damp and disgruntled prairiecat huddled as deeply as possible into the hollow beneath the rock overhang. The drizzle was finer than mist but persistent, and now and then a stronger gust of wind would bear it and its cold, wet discomfort in upon the big furry body.

Though Whitetip’s amber eyes were closed, his every other sense was fully alert. Vainly, he tried to imagine himself where he should be this night, after having dutifully scouted all day and most of the night before that, too. He tried to will himself to well-deserved, well-earned comfort in a warm, dry tent, possibly with a couple or three nice saddle blankets on which to curl up. Once or twice, he could almost seem to feel the solid comfort of his reveries, but each time he was cruelly distracted. Once, a stronger gust of wet lashed in upon him. The second distraction came in the guise of an especially loud and protracted splashing down in the stream, followed immediately by the scream of a man in pain and an excited babble of shouts.

Chief Whitetip decided that this particular gaggle of twolegs were clearly far less rational than most others of their inherently irrational species. To willingly splash about and immerse their bodies in cold water on a hot, sunny day were a silly enough thing to do, but to do so of a distinctly chilly, almost moonless night ... such clearly retarded twolegs should not be allowed out without a keeper.

Both Bili and Rahksahnah were young, neither yet twenty years of age. Moreover, they were deeply in love and mutually reveled in the intense joy that their two vibrant bodies were capable of bringing each other. So, despite the long, saddle-weary day’s march, despite his hours in attendance upon King Mahrtuhn, despite the late-night conference with his officers, when at long last Bili and Rahksahnah sought their blankets, they made gentle, unhurried love, then fell soundly asleep still wrapped in each other’s embrace, all of their youthful passion spent, for the nonce.

It was not yet dawn, however, when Rahksahnah awakened to the feel of life moving within her body. Bili had no idea of her condition, else he never would have allowed her to ride out on this present campaign. Only Rahksahnah and Pah-Elmuh, the Kleesahk, held the sure knowledge, and she had pledged him to silence. Her reasoning made sense—to her; she had strong presentiments that she had not very long to live and she wished to spend every possible moment of what little life she had remaining by her Bili’s side. That by riding out to war she was risking her life as well as those two new ones that the huge humanoid-physician had been able to recognize within her womb did not seem in any way contradictory to her.

Now, lying in the darkness of the tent, with the warmth of her man’s body beside her and the dear, familiar smell of him all about her, she fleetingly wondered if ever another brahbehrnuh or any other Moon Maiden had ever cherished so strong and valiant, daring and loving a man.

“Probably not,” she thought. “For in the Hold there had been no equality of the two sexes since ... since the time of the Brahbehrnuh Nohdeva, anyway. Her it had been who had firmly established the new order of things in the Hold by killing or blinding the stronger, more stubborn men and first intimidating, then subjugating the weaker, so that the males of the race became little more than domestic beasts of burden, used periodically to propagate new generations of the Sacred Race.

“But now the Hold is gone, destroyed utterly, and all who dwelt therein—female and male alike—are dead, snuffed out like so many drowned torches. Only we few Moon Maidens are left of all our race, we and the children so recently sired of these Lowlander men. The Goddess, our Silver Lady, knew what was best for us when She bade us give over our lovers from the days of the Hold and choose as our new lovers and battle companions these fine, strong, brave men of an alien race. It has worked out well for us, as She surely knew it would, and precious few of my sisters would willingly return now to the ways and usages of the Hold.

“Only poor, crippled Meeree, once my own lover, and the bare handful of women she has gathered about her would try to go back to the old ways. But they are self-deluded; there will now never be another Hold of the Moon Maidens in these mountains or anywhere else. We few remaining can but mourn our dead mothers ... and our fathers, too. But She has seen to it that our own lives will be cast from a far different mold.”

Once again, she felt the new life inside her. Fiercely grasping the silver pendant that hung from the worn silver chain about her neck, she silently, fervently prayed.

“Oh my dear Lady, I have done all that You instructed me to do. I have seen to it that the most of Your Maidens obeyed Your Holy dictates, as well. The new ways were strange, exceeding strange, and for some of my poor sisters they brought pain and misery for a while, but now almost all are living new lives according to the new pattern.

“As for me, I have come to love this man, Bili, more than ever I have loved any living creature. I have borne him one child and now my body is filling with the growth of two more. I should be more than happy, Lady, save that I cannot escape the dire presentiment that my days of life and Bili are numbered and decreasing in quantity with the passing of each and every Moonrise.

“Pah-Elmuh was right, I should not risk these precious lives within me by riding out to war and close combat, but I feel that I must be by my Bili every possible moment that I can for as long as still I live. Oh, if only I knew the real truth of what is to be for me ... ?”

“My child, My lover, My dear, devoted Rahksahnah.” The never to be forgotten voice seemed to come from everywhere, from all about her and within her at the same time.

Rahksahnah opened her eyes to find the darkness gone, and gone as well were the tent and the blankets. She now lay nude upon the soft, silver-hued sward which surrounded Her Abode. Where Bili had lain in slumber, the Lady now lay upon one hip and elbow, facing her, sympathy and concern in Her silver-gray eyes. Extending one hand, the Goddess laid a cool palm upon Rahksahnah’s fevered forehead.

“My own, not even I know all that is to be. The pattern is never so tightly woven that it cannot be slightly, infinitesimally altered. Yes, death hovers close to you, my dear, your presentiment is accurate. But I can discern no immediacy, nor is it a certainty that you will be the one taken when the time is fully ripe. The two children you now carry will be safely delivered of you and will lead long, full lives.”

“And ... and my Bili, Lady? He will live to rear our little ones, even though I do not?” queried Rahksahnah hesitantly.

“Oh, my dear Rahksahnah, I am not omniscient. You ask more than even such as I know ... for a certainty. The pattern of what is to be, what might be, what must be is fluid. Slight alterations can appear in bare moments, dependent upon so many variables—actions of humans, of other creatures, of the very fabric of your world itself though most often of the actions and reactions of humans.”

Rahksahnah sighed deeply. “My ... my Lady can tell me nothing, then? Nothing of the fate of my dear Bili?”

The silvery being before her also sighed. “So far as I can discern, love, Bili of Morguhn will come unharmed from this impending battle, as too will you, though many and many another now living will leave its husk upon that bloody field of battle. There will swiftly follow other dangers and another great, crashing battle which it appears that you both are destined to weather safely. Then, however, when it would seem that all danger be past and gone, will come suddenly and from an unexpected quarter the most deadly danger. It is possible that Bili of Morguhn will be there and then torn from his husk.”

Rahksahnah’s hard, callused hand grasped tightly at the cool, soft hand of the Lady, her hilt-toughened fingers sinking into that silvery flesh, heedlessly. “No, dear my Lady, no! It must not be! Far better me than him. Take me, if such must be, but ... but, please, I implore you, let my Bili live on ... with our children. Without him, Lady, I know that I would be of no use to them or to anyone else, anyway.”

The Silver Lady sighed once more, sadly. “That which I can do, I will do, my child. But think you well upon the matter; when that time comes, you will still have a choice, although there exists always the possibility that both will leave the fleshly husk ... or neither. As I have told you, nothing so far in advance is ever certain.

“But now, my love, I must leave you, for it is almost moonset, for you, and almost moonrise for others of whom you know not in far-distant places. But we two shall meet like this once more, possibly.”

Gathering Rahksahnah’s lean, hard young body in Her embrace, the Lady’s silvery lips pressed upon the girl’s dark-red ones and, when she again became aware of the scratchy blankets against her bare flesh, that lingering, tingling, kiss of the Moon Goddess, the Silver Lady of the Maidens, was still a palpable sensation there in the darkness of the tent she shared with her man, Bili of Morguhn.

It was almost the third hour after dawn, with the sun well up in the azure sky and beginning to radiate meaningful amounts of heat in promise of a hot, dry day. Only then did King Mahrtuhn of New Kuhmbuhluhn feel himself sufficiently arrayed and prepared and fortified to pace out of his pavilion and put foot to stirrup to swing astride his light-bay stallion. But his fighters had been ready for long hours, and within a few minutes after he had settled in his ornate saddle, he was leading his battle out of the camp and toward the ford at a fast walk.

Prince Mahrtuhn, the monarch’s grandson and chosen heir, followed close upon the track of the first battle with his own, second battle. And his was followed by that of his hulking uncle, Prince Byruhn, of whose third battle Bili of Morguhn’s condotta was a part.

Trailing a distance behind this third battle marched a few hundred infantrymen, their column led by the beplumed and partially armored royal footguards, armed with poleaxes and partizans. The marchers were only about half of the foot, the rest remaining as camp guards.

They would all have remained in camp had not Byruhn set his foot firmly down on the matter. “Father, you have had your way in every facet of this ill-starred enterprise, ere this; the only certain and painless way to break up that pike hedge enough for heavy horse to assault it successfully is to use archers and dartmen and slingers from a distance beyond the reach of those overlong pikes, yet you have left every missileman in the kingdom squatting useless behind the walls of New Kuhmbuhluhnburk.”

“Win or lose, live or die,” growled the king, “we mean to do so in honor, and there is no honor in allowing valiant foemen to be slain by peasants at such distance as they have no slightest chance to defend themselves. The Skohshuns’ herald attests that they fight honorably, without missiles or such lowborn louts as use them, and the King of New Kuhmbuhluhn cannot do less.”

The tightness of the prince’s voice, then, had told the tale of a temper rising fast but under tight rein. “It is too bad that I did not get the chance to beard that herald, Father, for I am of the opinion that a fine point could be raised in regard to the actual honor of using pikeshafts of such a length that men of normal armament cannot possibly get within a range to use their weapons. But that is neither the one nor the other, just now.

“What is pertinent here and now is that unsupported cavalry is at peril in this sort of undertaking—I know that all too well. If my royal sire will recall, I was so rash as to attack these same Skohshuns last autumn with only my van and my heavy horse, not waiting for the arrival of the rest of my army ... and we all know the calamitous result of that, my folly.

“Even if our three battles are successful in hacking into and dispersing those pikes, we cannot consolidate a victory without infantry of our own. And should we suffer such a defeat as last year, then that same infantry will be needed to give us some cover during our withdrawal.”

The king had gnawed for a few moments on his lower lip, his blue-green eyes locked unwaveringly with the identical blue-green eyes of his huge, burly son. At last, however, he had shrugged and said, “Oh, all right, Byruhn, take the damned foot if you feel you must. Take my footguards and up to half of the levy. But, mind you, you are directly responsible for them, in march or battle. And see that they stay well behind—scant good it would do us to ride down a passel of our own foot and so lose impetus in a charge.”

“I am certain that our infantry would be equally regretful of any such happenstance, royal Father,” Byruhn replied dryly. “I shall certainly see to it that the foot in no way hinder maneuverings of the mounted battles.”

“And see to it that your southron horsemen carry only one axe apiece into the fray,” the king went on peevishly. “If a warrior chooses to throw his axe or his lance at a foeman, we see no harm to the practice—we’ve even done the like ourselves from time to time over the years. But when said warriors customarily bear a whole assortment of spare axes for the sole purpose of throwing them, then they become no better than a pack of honorless, peasant missilemen. We’ll have no such low-bred louts forking horse behind our banners!”

As soon as the column was moving and in proper order, Prince Byruhn had summoned Bili up to ride with him. “Have you an experienced officer of foot, or two, in your condotta, Cousin Bili?”

Bili nodded. “Lieutenant of Freefighters Frehd Brakit, your grace. He was an infantry officer for some years. Then there’s a Freefighter sergeant, one Ahskuh Behrdyn, who also soldiered with a light infantry condotta in the Middle Kingdoms, as I recall.”

The prince nodded his big head. “Good. When we all halt while the first battle negotiates the ford, they are to take over command of the royal footguards and the rest, back there. I’ll personally give them special orders at that time.

“I like none of this affair, young cousin, as well you know. I’m an old wolf and I can smell death and defeat in the very air. Do your own ... ahhh ... special senses tell you aught of what lies ahead?”

Bili knew that Byruhn referred to the prairiecat, Whitetip, for of all the royal host, only the prince and Bili’s own folk were cognizant that the king’s order that no scouts be placed ahead of the advance had been flouted in this regard.

Kneeing his stallion closer and lowering his voice, the young thoheeks replied, “There are a scattering of Skohshuns along the crest of that ridge yonder, your grace, but not enough to be dangerous to us; they keep sending back runners to the Skohshun camp, so apparently they are just what they seem to be—a screen to observe our advance, then fall back before us.

“They are the closest Skohshuns to us; there are none anywhere between the near side of yon ridge and this river. The main force of the Skohshuns is even now drawing up its formation across the vale through which runs the continuation of this road we now ride. Although they seem to have precious few horsemen, I doubt they could be easily flanked, not with their wings running up steep, brush-grown hills on either side. A feeder stream to this river bisects their line, with about two thirds of them to the west of it and the remaining third or so to the east of it.”

“Ah, so?” remarked Prince Byruhn, one side of his single reddish eyebrow rising sharply. “How deep is this stream, and what is the bottom like downstream of the pike line?”

“I’d advise that your grace forget that line of attack,” answered Bili. “These Skohshuns seem to be most astute at warfare. They’ve felled trees and constructed an abattis to block any approach up the streambed. Moreover, their lines of formation seem to run directly through the stream in as deep ranks as those on dry land.”

“Well, at least that much is a point to remember,” the prince remarked a bit grumpily. “Those bastards belike have near-frozen feet already, if that stream runs as cold as do most hereabouts, and I doubt me they’d have gone to the trouble to throw out any abattises behind them. So, if we somehow manage to flank them or to hack through to their rear, those unlucky swine knee-deep in cold water will be slow to turn on numbed feet and therefore the logical ones to attack from the rear.

“Now, young cousin, you had best ride back to your force and notify those two Freefighters of their imminent takeover of command of the foot.”

Bili smiled. “No need, your grace. Even while we two were in converse here did I mindspeak Frehd Brakit on the matter. By now, he has certainly notified Sergeant Behrdyn.”

Prince Byruhn sighed. “It’s right often I’ve wished that I were a mindspeaker, for yon’s a damned convenient talent in war. Usually, of course, I have my Kleesahks to use their own mindspeak and communicate with others of their ilk; but what with my father leaving all of them in New Kuhmbuhluhnburk, for fear that their outre talents might give us an edge over the Skohshuns ... “He sighed again and shook his head sadly. “If I could bring myself to truly believe such things, I’d swear that that thrice-damned Skohshun herald ensorceled my father and my nephew. Honor or no honor, it simply defies all reason to deliberately forgo the use of one’s natural assets in battle, for battles are chancy enough exercises even when one is armed with every asset or weapon one can muster.”

King Mahrtuhn was the first man across the narrow ford, which, though fast-currented, was shallow enough to provide quick, easy passage even to the trailing infantry. Once over, however, the monarch halted and waited until his battle was all on the north side of the river and once more in column behind him before pushing on toward the ridgeline. But he and they deliberately retarded their rate of march until Prince Mahrtuhn and the second battle were all across and advancing behind them. Then the king set his mount at the base of the ascent to the ridge crest.

As the column began the progress toward that crest, a single line of unmounted men were seen—black shapes against the blue sky—to arise from the places where they had been kneeling or crouching and, after a last, unhurried look at the oncoming horsemen, retire from view.

Whitetip, the prairiecat, beamed to Bili, “Those twolegs who spent the night up here on this ridge have all left it and are trotting back toward where the men with the long spears wait in the vale,”

“You have done well, cat brother,” Bili beamed back. “Wait where you are until you can see me and Prince Byruhn nearby. Come you then to our folk and someone will buckle you into your armor and put on your fang spurs. We soon must fight.”