Crusade - James Lowder [113]
Having been in many battles before, though none nearly as monumental as the one that faced him now, Farl Bloodaxe recognized the fear in the king's voice. That's good, he thought. Fear keeps men alive in war.
He didn't tell that to Azoun. Instead, the infantry commander leaned close and said, "Thom once told me a story of an ancient Cormyrian king who fought a glorious battle against an enemy who outnumbered him twelve-toone."
Frowning, Azoun slid his visor closed. "I've heard that story, too, Farl. The king and all his knights but one die in the conflict. Hardly a tale to lighten our moods."
"Our odds are far better, Your Highness," Farl said, closing the visor on his own helmet. "We're only outnumbered three-to-one. At least a dozen of us should make it back to Cormyr." With a flourish he drew his sword and bowed it in salute to the king.
Beneath his helmet, Azoun chuckled. He meant to return a witty retort to his friend's dark humor, but when he glanced at the Tuigan line, it was closer than he had expected. The signal went out again to prepare for first assault.
Pikes and spears bristled from the Alliance's first rank, and the tension in the air made the whole army grow as tight as the string on a longbow.
The formation of the Tuigan charge was clear now, but the sun at the enemy's back and the high, waving grain sometimes hid the horsewarriors from Azoun's sight. As Farl had guessed, the khahan had organized his men into three rough lines, each about three men deep. Azoun was amazed that the barbarians managed to maintain a straight, orderly charge as they raced across the plain. If Lord Harcourt can see the precision with which the Tuigan are advancing, the king decided, he's probably modified his opinion of them considerably.
At a few hundred yards, the bulk of the enemy reined in their horses and stopped. A group about half the size of the Army of the Alliance, perhaps fifteen thousand men, raced forward. A steady rumble of drums accompanied the heavy thunder of their horses' hooves pounding the ground.
"They're going to test the line!" Farl shouted, waving his sword in the air.
The first line gripped their shields a little tighter and braced their polearms for the impact. In the second rank, captains bellowed orders to the archers, who tested the pull of their bowstrings one last time.
Azoun shifted in the saddle to get a better look at the four groups of archers, then drew his sword. The king could see Brunthar Elventree's standard-the mace, spear, and chain symbol of Battledale in gold upon red cloth-at the rear of the closest formation of bowmen. Like all the groups of archers, the dalesman's was fortified with dozens of long, sharpened stakes.
The palisade formed a wall of spikes that tilted down the hill, ready to repulse an enemy charge.
The king gave the signal for the archers to fire when ready, and Brunthar's standard wavered in the light wind crossing the field. Six thousand archers drew their bows as one and leaned back, seemingly to point their arrows at the low-hanging sun.
Just as Azoun turned to the battlefield again, the archers fired. Six thousand arrows sliced through the air, and the thunder of the Tuigan advance was momentarily drowned out by the hollow whistle of the deadly missiles. After arcing up into the sky, the arrows seemed to hang at the zenith of their flight, then, in an instant, they dropped onto the charging barbarians.
The black curtain reached the Tuigan charge about one hundred yards from the Alliance's front rank. Hundreds of horses tumbled into the grass, screaming in pain, tossing their riders under the hooves of other charging steeds. Some arrows struck the riders themselves, often killing their targets instantly. In all, the first volley dropped almost one tenth of the entire charge.
This heavy toll might have been a surprise, had not the barbarians' orderly advance made them easy targets for the skilled western longbow-men.
The attack seemed to surprise the charging horsewarriors, for some of them faltered momentarily.