CHAPTER 21 – THE BATTLE FOR MONAKI
The first light of the morning sun crept across the Tanarian mountainside, bringing with it a multitude of reflections from the steel armour and weapon-clad troops that lined the plateau and eventually spread out across the pass to the valley below. Two armies faced each other grim faced and in silence. This morning there would be no surprise attack, all who stood on the field knew that this entire Tanarian region’s fate as well as their own lives lay in the balance today.
The Aristrian’s were formed up in ranks six deep. The core of the formation were the heavy infantry regulars, full time native Aristrian soldiers who, after three years’ service were invited into the unit, based upon their performance and then provided with a set of superior plate armour, helmet and shield by the state. They stood formed up with the grinding machine (heavy infantry) in the centre, with the flanks positioned to funnel the new meat into it. The command banners held their usual position in the centre behind a tight shield-wall, the Aristrian regulars with the mercenaries and auxiliaries making up the flanks. The remnants of the Uphrians and Milotite hired fighters stood uneasily on the left and right flanks respectively in open order, or as some would put it, as a rabble. The Milotites were dark-skinned tribesmen, as black as their reputation and renowned for their skill with the throwing spear from a distance. Each man also carried a wicked Tulwar for the close-in bloody work. The remaining Uphrians on the left flank were shoved in with the rest of the mixed men-at-arms, individual mercenaries or bands of hired fighters well equipped and signed up for a share in the bounties of war. A smaller contingent of perhaps two hundred riders waited to the rear, presumably as a quick reaction force. A text book formation thought Barrad. This would ring true with Tamar’s last dream report and appraisal of the situation that the army group had deployed its cavalry to the mine, which was one less factor to worry about. However what was very apparent to all looking on down towards the enemy, was that the invading army filled the plain. Their Commander may have been slain but with their numerical advantage their mere sight could still invoke a knee-wobble in even the sternest of men. A new Commander had stepped up to the challenge and they were still obviously ready to fight.
Barrad instantly assessed that the mixed men-at-arms on the left flank would be the best side to push hard. They would fight well individually but not cohesively as one unit. From his tactical teachings in the Temple he knew that mercenaries usually joined a force in groups, and would fight for gold, survival and their mates, in that order, but they were probably the most battle hardened. He judged that when faced with an organized and determined formation they would not fare so well, besides he would place himself opposing this flank to make sure they broke. He also realised that their Commander had made a mistake in putting the Uphrians with the men-at-arms on that flank. A day earlier it would have been a sound decision, but after the slaughter of the Uphrians, they would have to face the same force again. They were tough men but defeat is difficult to forget and besides, they would be better used in an attacking manoeuvre, rather than in defence. Barrad lacked the real life experience of commanding an army group but he had studied every major battle and could recite the manual of war backwards. With foolhardy decisions like this from the replacement Commander there may yet be some hope of a breakout.
Barrad had pulled all but fifty men from the other passes, having ordered the men remaining at the mountain passes to triple the amount of campfires overnight to give the impression that larger numbers were stationed there. Should the passes fall they would have a serious problem on their hands, yet they were so narrow he judged that they could be held with half that amount for the duration of the battle and today they needed every single man that they could spare here.
A large cheer erupted from the troops to the rear and all heads turned to check out the commotion. Marching down the track from the top of the plateau came a rag-tag contingent of townsfolk, the grey hair of the old and long locks of the women could be clearly seen as they marched down. There must have been four hundred of them, carrying bows, clubs, pitch forks and even a saucepan was spotted. One man amongst the army shouted.
‘Hey Ralfnuk your mother comes down to show you how to fight.’
Another voice shouted out. ‘No, it can’t be her, as she’s still in my bed.’ The group erupted into laughter at Ralfnuk.
The townsfolk all knew that if the army failed today, the best that they could look forward to would be slavery, so after being persuaded by an inspiring speech by Onus, the general that Barrad had earlier dismissed, they took up a position behind the main force. Barrad looked over at Onus proudly standing in front of his rag-tag command, he avoided going over as he had more to deal with than his own dented pride, but he knew that he had been wrong about this man and now hoped that he had not made any further errors of judgment.
Barrad scanned the enemy’s lines one last time, seeking out their replacement Commander for a target, but the man at least had the sense to remain anonymous, although he suspected he would be amongst the rear of the heavy infantry near to the Armies battle standards. An officer approached Barrad.
‘Sir the fire carts are ready to light.’
‘Proceed,’ he nodded.
There was no point in standing on a steep slope and not making good use of it. The carts had been filled with a combustible mix of straw, saltpeter and mixed oils, enough to guarantee a thunderous reaction. Flaming torches were thrown in and each team of six strong men waited nervously, just long enough to be sure that the fires had taken hold, then pushed the carts like mad down towards the disheartened enemy, who had thought the carts were nothing more than a simple barricade.
‘Well lads,’ shouted Barrad, ‘There’s no point in keeping them waiting …Smash them.’
The flames from the carts burned higher, fed by the sudden rush of oxygen as they rattled their way down the rough track, building up speed before smashing into the scattering soldiers. One of the carts exploded, sending a great plume of smoke and hot splinters into all around. Several men were splattered by the burning tar-like substance that had been filled into the carts and scalded men rolled around screaming on the floor frantically trying to stifle the flames. The heavy infantry in the centre had parted ranks with well-practiced military precision, allowing the carts to pass harmlessly through, then as one they closed ranks again. The final cart struck a rock and tumbled over the side of the ridge in a tumbling fireball missing its intended target. The fire carts had never been intended to inflict a large amount of casualties, but were intended to bring disarray to the enemy lines before the main assault and hopefully instill a little fear into them. They had done their job well against the flanks and the front rank of the Tanarian army now poured down the hill to smash into the confused enemy lines. The thick smoke belched across the battlefield adding to the confusion, as the first volleys of arrows struck home. The enemy raised shields to the air, then quickly leveled them to meet the charge. A small contingent of cavalry had passed through the advancing infantry to strike with well-rehearsed precision to maintain the disarray until the infantry arrived. Several riders and mounts fell to Milotite throwing-spears yet this did little to stop their pace as they hammered home their downhill charge. Lances shattered as they smashed against shields or embedded themselves into armour and flesh. Discarding the long lances into the mass of men, the horsemen switched to the long cavalry sword that each man carried, to hack and slash at the heads that peeked above the rims of their shields as they rode along the front ranks. An axe-man ran out, cleaving one of the rider’s legs and shattering the horse’s ribs with the blow. The beast stumbled into its neighbour sending a second man hard into the floor. Their bodies were instantly enveloped by a dozen madmen hacking them to bits, as the front rank of the Aristrians momentarily broke ranks. The Tanarian foot-soldiers came within fifty yards of the enemy, then a distinctive horn sounded and the marauding riders turned tail and rode rapidly back up the sides of the track in single file, allowing the weight of the infantry to smash into the waiting invaders. Barrad was pleased with how well the men carried out the difficult manoeuvre; the endless practice had paid off. The Aristrian’s were in a state of surprise, they had expected to bring the attack to the enemy today, not the other way around. The clatter of their armour and shouted insults filled the valley with an unpleasant crescendo and the screams of the dying soon followed.
Barrad fell upon the enemy line, his blade storm bringing death to any who opposed him. Not one Uphrian wanted to advance against the warrior with the two gleaming blades, the dark rumours of the campfires had greatly enhanced his reputation, but their stubborn warrior’s pride stopped them from retreating in front of their comrades. The first man to die almost seemed eager to get his life over with. He had rushed at Barrad screaming a war cry, with his huge two-handed sword raised above his head. Barrad was already past the man before the sword could fall, one of his blades had opened a long wound across the man’s exposed painted torso and his intestines spewed forth from the great gash. His other sword hamstrung the large man dropping him to the ground to be trampled into the slush by the men that followed. Without stopping, Barrad continued into the crowd before they had time to gain sufficient space to make good use of their longer weapons. An axe-head was deflected and his helmet smashed into the nearest man’s face, quickly finishing the stunned man off with several straight thrusts to his torso. Now bunched up, the Uphrian to his right did not have sufficient room to swing his enormous axe, so instead he dropped it and leaped at Barrad hoping to bring the agile warrior down. The man’s outstretched hands were taken off at the wrist and his face met Barrad’s elbow, breaking his nose with the impact, he fell as if pole-axed.
The killing blow should be easy to land, thought the final Uphrian from the group. He recognized the man with his back towards him to be the Su-Katii Commander from the day before, the man was still occupied as he gutted his Uphrian captain. Should he manage to slay the enemy Commander, he would revel in his victory for months and would be the hero of the battle. Filled with these thoughts, he had studied his movements and judged his stab with perfection, but his opponent moved with an unnatural sixth sense that could not be calculated. His long dagger struck out towards the man’s exposed back, but something was wrong, he could no longer move. He struggled to angle his head downwards and viewed the silver blade skewered through his neck and the unforgiving eyes viewing him through the tight eye slits, kneeling on the ground the Su-Katii’s arm extended up delivering the coup-de-grace. His vision faded, he hadn’t even seen the move coming; it was time to join his God.
The left flank began to buckle as the Tanarian troops quickly filled the void that Barrad had created. The men behind him also gave a good account of themselves, but then that was expected of them as he had hand-picked them all. Only the strongest Tanarian squads of men had been selected and placed to oppose and smash this flank, it had to fall if they had any chance of victory. The men facing the experienced heavy Aristrian infantry in the centre were not faring so well. Many bodies were already slumped against their shield-wall. Each Aristrian soldier protecting the other with interlocked shields and well-drilled precision, it was proving difficult to breach. With their superior numbers, Barrad was acutely aware that they merely had to stand their ground and wear the Tanarians down to win the day. For all their fighting prowess, if the centre fell, their force would be divided and defeat would just be a matter of time. The enemy had themselves expected to be marching up the hill to attack not standing their ground against the waves of men streaming down at them. If the unexpected assault went bad they would attempt to regroup across the narrowest point of the track and fight for survival there.
As the last of the Uphrians fell, the remaining bands of mercenaries were beginning to realise that they may not be around to collect their gold unless this strong surge into their ranks was stopped. Their counter-attack came from the sides of the fighting wedge that had pushed through their ranks. The General leading the wedge of men was almost through their lines. If they could cut off the troops that followed behind him they may have a chance of overwhelming him. Garnak was the only man up to the challenge of leading a counter attack and he recognised the opportunity and rose to the call, he always did. Garnak was a legend amongst the men, a giant of a man with a girth to match. His nose had been broken countless times and his rare smile revealed several missing teeth, each one had been accounted for in one fight or another. His face was hardly distinguishable from the crosshatch of scars, which he tried to conceal with a dark patchy beard; he was not by any account a handsome man, having a face only a mother could love. Today he wore his distinctive gladiator’s helm, as he liked his opponents to see what was coming after them and its long spiked ridges let all who faced him know they were about to meet with a champion of the arena. As a five-year-old orphan he had fought for the amusement of the rich in order to survive. Now as a man of thirty two, he had not only fought in many wars, but had also gained much experience of the infamous fighting pits and additionally had mastered and survived the Great Arena, which was rare even for a free man, never mind a slave. He was a man who had seen every horror that life could offer and had instigated or participated in most of them. He had joined this campaign for further fame and wealth and no Su-Katii boy-general was going to steal it from him. Garnak’s unit surged into the leading squad of Tanarians, inspired by their leader’s savage assault. The huge man smashed aside two warriors with one bash of his immense square shield, he preferred it to the smaller ones of his mercenary companions, as it provided complete protection and its corners provided an extra point as a weapon. His engraved iron war hammer stove in another head as he moved closer to his target, the man’s eyes rolled upwards and his legs buckled. The hammer would gain several more notches on its shaft after today.
Garnak charged in amongst the Tanarians behind their general like a raging bull. With several swordsmen watching his back, he continued forwards with his onslaught. A man came at him with a spear trying to run him through but he deflected the strike and smashed the shaft within his hands, the terrified man bounced backwards into the men behind him as he tried in vain to escape Garnak’s hammers next blow. The back of his skull splintered into a hundred pieces showering its gore over his comrades; his helmet offering no protection against the deadly war hammer was flung like a ball hitting a bat into the distance.
Barrad stopped pushing his onslaught, allowing the small group of men that had followed him to overtake his lead, observing the desperate action being fought behind him. Had it been a particular cry over the cacophony of the battle, or his warrior’s instinct that had halted his advance? The huge mercenary ploughed through the side of the Tanarian fighting wedge moving with surprising speed considering his heavy plate-armour and immense shield, which moved like a second skin on this man.
Today was business as usual for Garnak as he smashed another man’s jaw with an audible snap that could be heard above the screams of the dying. Barrad moved through his men back towards the giant who was decimating his lead troops. The effect of fear was now starting to spread amongst the Tanarians for they had considered themselves the elite of the army and were falling fast to this giant of a man. This one had to be stopped and quick. He observed the impressive skill and inhuman strength of the man as he catapulted a freshly killed opponent into his next target. This man was incredibly strong, gaining continuous victory by quickly overpowering his opponents. Most Su-Katii had a muscular, but slim, build, winning their fights by using inhuman skill, intuition and expertise. Their strenuous expert training seemed to provide them with untapped stamina, suiting them well to long battles and multiple opponents. He knew that when a Su-Katii knight tires and fatigue sets in, the hand fails to move as fast as the mind intends and a new slot in the Temple is made available. This opponent had reached the pinnacle of his ability through animal like aggression and brute strength.
Garnak spotted Barrad and bellowed out a personal challenge for combat across the blood-covered field. He thanked his Gods as it had been some years since he had killed his last Su-Katii in the arena and today would grant him the further glory and recognition that he craved. The men of both sides rapidly withdrew to form a space; none wanted to get in their way - relieved that now they might not have to face one of these killing machines. It had been many years since anyone had witnessed a challenge of single combat.
Neither warrior wasted any breath on the other, they knew no psychological advantages would be gained here with insults; instead they ploughed into each other with a deafening crash that made all around them disengage and turn to watch the spectacle. Barrad flew forward with a thrust that immediately closed the distance between them, his movement reached beyond that of any normal opponent, his blow lashed out at the heavily-armoured man’s head.
‘Such speed,’ Garnak thought, as he jumped backwards trying to avoid the blow. The sword point dinted the side of his helm. This one was undoubtedly faster than the last Su-Katii he had slain, but he would quickly crush him all the same. Instinctively pushing out with his shield, the second blade thudded against its iron rim. He arced an over arm blow around his shield at the man’s head, but instead of the accustomed thud, it wrenched his arm as it met with no resistance, hitting nothing but cold air. He twisted around, bringing up his shield to meet the counter-attack that he knew would follow such an opening. The Su-Katii unleashed a complex six-move combination designed to move the shield away from the body and expose a small gap in which to thrust. Garnak instinctively understood that he was in someway being setup and instead smartly chose to disengage, he back-peddled for space, as he did so, sending his hammer swinging upwards in an unexpected uppercut towards the man’s chin. Barrad’s well drilled footwork carried him to safety, but the giant now seized the initiative and stormed forward in an attempt to finish the Su-Katii quickly. With his vision filled with the large shield bearing down on him, Barrad, used a series of side steps to keep the mercenary twisting awkwardly around after him, slowing his chase with alternating blows both high and low, whilst avoiding the circular swings of his hammer. A blade bounced off Garnak’s exposed shoulder-guard and Barrad was forced to jump backwards as the giant returned with a sweeping shield bash that just missed his face, losing his footing Barrad unexpectedly slipped to the floor amid the blood and slush. The hammer streaked down towards his head, both men now gasping with their exertions. With blades crossed, Barrad stopped the incoming blow, the force of the giant behind it jarring his arms. A huge foot lashed out and half-caught him as he awkwardly rolled back to his feet. The watching mercenaries began to chant their hero’s name as the giant pressed his attack. Barrad’s sword lashed out with a vicious riposte that hit the giant’s coif, bruising his neck and causing him to fight for air from the blow. Another follow-up blow was deflected by Garnak’s heavy breastplate; his expensive armour had been a fine investment over the years. Regaining his breath he circled Barrad now more cautious hoping to find a new angle of attack. Suddenly and unexpectedly, the giant sunk to his knees, his arms slumped loosely to his side. Barrad was confused by his movements, but as Garnak’s body turned and dropped to his knees, a large double-headed axe could be seen embedded deep in his back. During the combat he had moved too close to the watching Tanarians and obviously not everyone on the battlefield was in the habit of respecting the battlefield code of single combat. With his spine shattered Garnak’s huge bulk fell, face down into the mud. Barrad’s gaze was evil as he searched for the axe wielder, but he had rapidly disappeared back into the seething mass of men that had already begun their renewed combat again. He now realised that this fight was not just about his own personal honour or pride, men would protect their own lives and that of their families at any cost. The victor today would be the last man standing, not he who followed a code. The battle was raging on and he needed to capitalise on the loss of Garnak. He turned with a war cry and engaged the nearest enemy. The mercenaries were horrified at the death of their champion and faced with the blood-splattered swords of the advancing Tanarian champion, they reconsidered the ultimate price they would pay for their coin. The rout of the left flank had begun.
The Aristrian reserves and cavalry were quick to react as the situation was now critical for them. Their attempts to wheel their formation into a position in which they could defend the left flank were severely hindered by the streams of men stampeding back through them, fleeing the field. On seeing the growing panic the cavalry Commander decided that the day was lost, his small reserve force was massively undermanned – if they advanced into the fray, they too would be decimated. With the advantage of their horses his unit were almost guaranteed safety if they left the field now, he could easily rejoin with the force at the mine. He decided the battle would be lost without Lord Azeth at the helm. He despised the infantry Commander who had assumed command, it should have been him that took the privilege of overall command, they were both of equal rank and then they would not have been in this situation. Their own lives could yet be saved if they departed now.
The stand-in Commander shouted frantically at the horsemen as they turned tail and departed the blood-soaked pass. ‘Dammed horse-shaggers.’
He only needed a few minutes to reorganize the three rear lines to extend the formation losing the depth of the ranks but covering the crumbling flank better, this would stop him from being totally outflanked and keep the Tanarians hemmed in by the jagged rocks that lined the wide track. Even without the left flank and the cavalry, they still outnumbered the enemy nearly two to one. He could still make a victory out of this, he just needed his men to act quickly but in despair at the coward’s retreat from the field, he hurled every insult he could think of at the retreating horsemen then dealt with the situation.
‘Turn your men to the right and guard our side …Front rank. We can finish these dogs. ADVANCE.’
Commander Arteious bellowed and pointed, indicating where he wanted his men. The well disciplined Aristrians followed their Commander’s instructions and two long horn blows sounded the manoeuvre, with a renewed effort the infantry began to force the Tanarians back up the hill.
Barrad knew that the battle was far from won and began his assault on the shield-wall of the heavy infantry. As he looked around he realised that half of his men had broken ranks to pursue the fleeing warriors of the left flank – damned fools.
‘Hold the line.’ he bellowed, but it was too late, the men were beyond recall. Their only chance now was to throw themselves at the reorganising infantry before they were fully reformed into an impenetrable phalanx, even he would have trouble in penetrating such a formation.
Farlow, the carpenter’s son, had found a good vantage point from which to fire arrows down into the masses. Very little return fire had come their way once the foot soldiers had engaged at close quarters and he had been sent down by his father, to represent their family in the conflict as part of the town’s contingent, but now he was running low on arrow shafts. His younger brother was already running back up the hill, puffing and panting as he wondered why it had to be him who had to replenish the spent arrows. He had seen two men fall from his direct arrow strikes since the start of the engagement and he hoped to make it three.
At this distance, the men swarmed like bees in the valley below and his arrows had disappeared into their close ranks. He had notched his second from last arrow when some movement caught his eye below. The man’s gestures seemed to indicate that he was of some importance, frantically pointing in several directions. He took account of the crosswind and slowly released the air from his lungs as he loosed the arrow, just as his father had taught him. It arced high through the air eventually taking the man in the thigh. Disappointed, he released his last remaining arrow at a Milotite warrior that had broken through the lines and was running up the track. The man dropped as if pole-axed. He crouched back behind the rocks, at last satisfied with his work and thinking his brother had better hurry up as he did not want to fight in hand-to-hand combat with his whittling knife.
The Aristrian Commander felt like he had been punched in his inner thigh, adrenalin carried him on for a moment and, not knowing his femoral artery had been punctured, he continued barking his orders until his sudden collapse. His dreams of victory faded as fast as his lifeblood pulsed from his body, Arteious collapsed, lifeless, into the mud.
With their Commander dead and men pouring around their flanks the men began to think of retreat, as they knew that if the enemy fully enveloped them they were finished. One of the old veterans slid his sword through the back of a youngster who was inciting retreat, but with Barrad carving through the men on the flank, the veteran’s action had the opposite effect to what he wanted. The bulk of the heavy infantry, now leaderless, thought only of their own escape and smashed their way backwards through the tide of men that threatened to envelope them through the growing gap to the left that Barrad had created. The Aristrian front rank was still oblivious to the withdrawal behind, leaving them extremely exposed.
With renewed vigour, the Tanarians again fell upon their thin line and this time the men were easily pushed back and pulled to the ground as the streams of troops charged through them with ease. The Tanarian victory was now sealed, every man now ran for their own lives in earnest. The old veteran’s trampled body lay twitching on the cold ground with an Aristrian dagger through his back.
The lighter-armoured Tanarian troops pursued the routed invaders for several leagues continuing their revenge where possible, but the bulk of the Tanarian force held their ground celebrating their victory with wild cheers. Barrad caught his breath, suddenly noticing the chill of the wind again penetrating through his armour to his sweat soaked undergarments. There would be little time to celebrate, Sorus had insisted that time was of the essence in order to reach the mine.
He immediately began to reorganize the men ready to move out to the mines, but before they departed there was something that he knew he would need to find, but where could it be? The townsfolk were now busy tending to the wounded and dying, some exacting their revenge. Looking out across the barren landscape he wondered how Tress had got on with her mission, then shouted for horses to be arranged.