Brother, Betrayed Read online

  “Prepare the men, the battle is beginning,” Oman told the scout, whispering though there was no chance of the enemy hearing him.

  “Yes sire,” he responded and returned down the hill.

  The prince saw the enemy army maneuvering and felt a cramp in his gut. They were calling forth their archers, which meant they did have a strategy.

  “Prince Oman, we are in position,” a knight informed the prince.

  “Very well, instruct the men to wait. Commander Lenpece will reveal his cavalry to the north soon and push them towards us,” the prince commanded, not turning from his position. He watched the king’s army cluster as the Marrians prepared to release their barrage. Father won’t let them pick away his army with arrows. Oman saw his father’s advancing infantry slow their pace, still advancing but measured. The prince glanced back at his men, seeing them crouching in readiness behind the hill, several rows of archers ready to overcome the summit, and a regiment of foot soldiers that he would use to charge the Marrians from the hill. His knights came up the hill to his flanks, ready to stand sentry over him as the battle began. Then the sound of the bugle came, and all of Oman’s command stiffened, for it was the signal for the charge.

  Oman and his knights leaned over the crest of the hill, watching the first volley of arrows fly into the air from the Marrian army. The king’s front lines stopped and lowered, raising a wall of shields above their heads. The pause was momentary, and arrows were still falling on them when their attack recommenced. Oman watched in nervousness, knowing that a round of arrows wouldn’t do much to a prepared force, but he still searched for any soldiers who had fallen from them. But as he watched, he couldn’t find a single Arnithian left behind as the line began to proceed.

  There, the Marrians seemed concerned about their chance to win now. Their army hesitated, but finally regrouped to receive the coming charge of Arnithian heavy soldiers. A volley of arrows came from behind the king’s front lines, surprising the Marrians, as it did Oman, because there had been no signal for it. The hail for shields had come to their front lines in time, but as the arrows landed they had no time to recover for the king’s heavy soldiers were upon them.

  The prince felt a strong urge to join them, but resisted it. He reminded himself of his duties in order to stifle the need to raise his sword for the king and fight beside his comrades. He sensed the knights and soldiers with him felt the same, watching the Arnith soldiers pushing forward as a swell of enemy infantry came against them. The sound of the battle was not what Oman expected. The soldiers’ voices became quiet, as if they were focusing on the severity of the moment, and all that came to the prince and his men at the top of the hill was the sound of clashing metal and flesh, and an occasional shout of order or frustration.

  The prince looked back to the king, finding him mounted behind his reserve soldiers, overlooking the battle. From his vantage point, Oman could also see the mounted knights that the king was hiding around the turn of the opposite hill, waiting until they were needed. He felt separated, as they were, from the reality of conflict that was being conducted below them.

  Then the horns signaled the surprise cavalry attack from the north. Arnithian horsemen appeared at the turn of the valley. The prince couldn’t help but liken their fanfare to that of hunters spotting their prey. But he quickly dismissed the thought, realizing that his moment had come. Commander Lenpece was turning the enemy to seek safety up the hill, towards his waiting troops. Oman raised his hand off the ground, and he could hear the simultaneous shift of soldiers and archers preparing around him. He waited until many of the Marrian soldiers had turned and started their direction until he thrust forward his hand and cried out a barrage, signaling his men to stand and rush into formation at the top of the hill. His men joined his war cry as they followed him, hoping to strike dread and panic into their enemy’s minds, who were seeking refuge at their position.

  The prince, with his archers, halted at the brow of the hill and the archers prepared to fire. The enemy troops stalled and assessed the threat the archers posed. The archers took aim, but weighing their loss from arrows verses their pursuers, the enemy rushed the hill.

  “Here they come,” Oman said, motioning to the waiting swordsmen behind him, “we will entice them a few moments more, where our assault will be unavoidable.”

  “Archers!” the prince’s lieutenant called out. “Release at will!”

  The arrows flew into the air and soon hit their rushing targets. Many enemy soldiers fell, many more than previous attempts at volleys on the field. The enemy hesitated again, but then resumed, finding the cost less steep than the prize.

  “At the ready,” Oman commanded his waiting soldiers.

  “Archers, again!” the lieutenant cried, and another round of arrows dropped a few dozen soldiers. “There isn’t time for another round,” the officer turned and told Oman.

  The prince nodded, watching the Marrian footmen push desperately up the hill. “They have advanced high enough. Swordsmen, trample them to the ground!” The swordsmen responded in unison, shouting and rising.

  “Archers, stand to,” the lieutenant commanded and they immediately made straight formations, allowing the charging infantry to pass through them.

  “Slow their reinforcements, release a round to the base of the hill, past their front line,” the prince yelled, above the clangor of smashing weapons and armor where his men met the enemy.

  “Yes sir. Archers, aim carefully. Extend your arrows as far as you can to be sure we don’t hit our own men.”

  The archers raised their bows, taking their time before they released this time. Oman realized why his father had placed him at this position as he watched his men push down the enemy soldiers. Their position on the hill afforded them a comprehensive level of safety, for any attacking force would have to overcome their strength plus the obstacle of the mountain. This advantage was strikingly evident as more and more Marrian soldiers tried to force their way past the Arnithian line to no avail. Then the archers found their targets, and released their tormenting arrows deeper into the Marrian army, which was now almost completely turned their direction for retreat. The volley had a noticeable effect, and the soldiers still conscious on their front lines paused and turned at once, hearing the call to regroup at the base of the hill.

  “They have decided to stand their ground,” Oman observed.

  “Shall we pursue them?” the lieutenant inquired.

  “Not yet, we will let the king and Commander Lenpece obtain a strong perimeter around them and then we will deliver the final blow.”

  “Yes sire, a good plan.”

  “Have the archers target their closest lines.”

  The lieutenant paused, looking back to the retreating Marrian troops. “They are almost out of range now sir,” he cautioned.

  “What reaches them will be enough to harass them. It will serve to distract them from our other two advancing fronts,” Oman said as he sensed the calming of the battle below them. “And should they decide to try to take the hill again, it will reduce their numbers.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE BATTLE TURNS

  “Make sure the city guards are alerted,” Syah told the soldiers that followed him up the steps of the castle. “And caution the townspeople. They should be prepared to move within the city walls if there is an attack.”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the knights answered.

  The prince opened the doors to the main chamber and searched for his brethren or father. “Fasime,” he said when he found him at a planning table.

  “Syah,” Fasime answered and stood.

  “Where is the king and Oman?” Syah demanded.

  “They have already left for the battle at Three Hills Bend. What happened? Why have you returned so soon?”

  “We were attacked by a troop of Dikartian fighters,” Syah answered and his brother’s eyes sharpened. “And brother, I believe there are more that followed us.”

  “Well, they w
ill not attempt to pursue you into the city,” Fasime said, studying his younger brother.

  “I believe that is their intent.”

  “That the Dikartians plan to attack Anteria?” Fasime spoke condescendingly. “That’s impossible.”

  Syah breathed with exasperation and turned away from him. “I’m not sure. I have sent several scouts to confirm. The first ones we sent did not return.”

  “Even if it is true, any enemy attempting to overtake the city will be rudely educated on its defenses. There is nothing to fear.”

  Syah was silenced, not having enough evidence to argue it further. He sighed and sat, feeling the strain of riding so long without rest catch up to him.

  “The king and commander are in position,” the scout informed the prince as he reached them.

  “Yes, we could tell by the Marrians’ temperament. They seem ready to risk another attack on our position. They may have already realized they are pincered. Our troops are ready to contest them, should they try it.”

  “They could be about to try you. Look sire, their army is advancing.”

  They turned to observe the closest portion of the Marrian army turning in unison, and with the obvious purpose of repeating their attempt to overtake the hill. Then their advance exploded into an open charge.

  “They desire us to meet them in the charge, but they will not draw our forces out. Prepare the archers, barrage them with arrows until they are within range of a deadlier, more steadfast weapon.”

  The Marrians slowed their attack as the arrows neared them, being more apprehensive of their devastating effect on the unprepared force. They raised their shields above them and continued underneath the fling of arrows, desperate as they were to reach the small, bothersome blockade atop the hill.

  Marrians dropped their shields and charged. Oman’s troops met them, effortlessly compared to the Marrian’s struggle to mount the hill. The Arnith soldiers gained ground before their trained swords plummeted onto their foes. The first two layers of rushing Marrians were dispatched in moments. Before the next surge could reach them, Oman gave the order for the swordsmen to form ranks and the archers dropped the next front of attacking footmen coming up the hill. The next round of Marrians were not so enthusiastic, seeing that none of their fellows had yet survived the Arnith soldiers. Oman took advantage of their hesitation and ordered his front lines to drive them to the base of the hill.

  The Arnith swordsmen easily drove back the surge of Marrians. The pressing army behind them turned back towards the west.

  “Curse the skies, they are retreating! Cowards! We shall run them down like the cattle they emulate.”

  “Send out the infantry, sire?”

  “Yes, we will end this farce now,” Oman affirmed as he brandished his sword. “Men, prepare yourselves. Charge!” he cried. The soldiers responded in unison, raising their weapons and voices as they ran in full force down the hill. The prince at once began to join them, but his knights had stood in front of him, watching the ensuing battle but also as a way of preventing him from joining it.

  “Ha! Arnith is close to their heels,” Oman’s lieutenant laughed as the Arnithian soldiers caught up to the fleeing Marrians. The king’s infantry and the commander’s horsemen closed around the north and south sides of the enemy army.

  “Wait,” Oman said hesitantly. “What is that? There, on the opposite hill,” Oman stated, his vision sharpening.

  “Where sir?” his lieutenant said when he heard him, looking out and trying to discern what had caught his prince’s attention so suddenly.

  “It can’t be… Marrian archers!” That turned the rest of the knights to the hills on the other side of the battlefield. Their search was short, for it was easy to spot the organizing rally of figures on the hill above the king’s army. The archers were already finding position and discernibly raising bows and preparing to release.

  “The king doesn’t see them,” a knight observed.

  Oman looked to the Arnith infantry and found his father among them, leading the advance towards the retreating Marrian force. He was oblivious the danger he was drawing nearer to. “Try to signal him,” the prince commanded, but just as the scout raised his horn, the enemy’s arrows flew into the air. The missiles struck and some Arnith soldiers fell, and the rest stalled, turning around in bewilderment. But it didn’t take long for them to find the source of the attack and prepare themselves before the next round of arrows. The prince could see signals being given, and the horsemen left the king’s army and started for the hill above them with haste. The Marrians prepared another round, but Oman sighed in relief when they aimed for the horsemen, for arrows would have little effect on fast approaching cavalry.

  His attention returned to the battle, seeing the Marrians turn and hold their ground against the Arnithians that were upon them. Though expected, Oman found the last two events as ill signals from the enemy. “Slow the advance,” Oman ordered, “have them hold the line at the base of the hill.”

  A knight obeyed and gave the signal, and their front lines halted and steadied the blockade against the turning Marrians. Then their attention returned to the opposite hill where their horsemen were almost to the Marrian archers.

  “Great skies, look there!” Oman’s lieutenant cried. “Coming around the base of the hill, enemy horsemen!”

  “That’s not possible,” the prince murmured and blinked as if to correct his sight. “They plan to knock through the king’s rear defenses.”

  “His majesty sees them; the heavy fighters are leaving their formation to protect the back line.”

  “But still, they will ride right over them,” the prince said gravely as the king’s army, in truth, scrambled to protect itself.

  “Pikemen!” a knight shouted, and at first Oman thought he was suggesting a command. Then he realized it was a warning. Several rows of pikemen appeared on the enemy’s hill and rushed in front of the Marrian archers. Most of the Arnith horsemen turned, seeing it impossible to overcome a row of enemy pikes at their disadvantaged angle. But a few continued, though their conflict was short after their horses fell to the long arms of enemy pikes.

  The prince felt an unfamiliar tightening in his gut as the enemy horsemen slash through his kingdom’s soldiers, and then turn and flee before retaliation could be organized. It only worsened as he watched the Arnithian horsemen try the archers from another side of the hill, only again to be thwarted by pikes and spears. Then a volley of arrows shot from the same hill, and instead of aiming towards the horsemen, found their original targets in the advancing army below them.

  “Arnith soldiers, at attention!” one of the knights around them shouted and Oman immediately found himself surrounded by ready knights and soldiers.

  “Cursed Marrians! We can’t defend against them!”

  “They will be upon us any moment!”

  “What is it?” Oman demanded. He pushed past the protective barrier they had made around him. He saw to his horror more enemy horsemen mounting the back of their post on the hill. In that moment, viewing the harsh determination on the enemy’s faces as they rushed towards him, the prince comprehended his error. The enemy had anticipated him, they were prepared, and had even set a trap that he, and the rest of the Arnith soldiers, had sprung without notice. His soldier’s words echoed dully in his mind. They were right; they couldn’t defend against them. He would lose most of his archers in their first attack.

  “Rush the battlefield,” the prince commanded.

  “What, sire?”

  “Hurry, we don’t have time to recall our footmen, so we will go to them. Sound the archers to charge!” Oman cried, turning from the nearing enemy horsemen and beginning to lead the rest of his troops to the infantry. His knights were quick to join him, followed by the remaining archers with them at the top of the hill. They had all started to sprint towards their reinforcements at the base of the hill when the first Marrian horsemen overcame the summit.

  “Signal Commander Lenpece,” Oman
commanded as he ran, “we will need his cavalry to support us.”

  A distress call was given, but they couldn’t tell from their position now if it was answered. The sound of hooves could be heard behind them, and a few of the knights turned to check them. Waging the horses’ gallop against the speed of their prince, they chose to turn and defend, hoping to slow their enemy and allow the prince to reach safety. The Marrian horsemen were upon them in moments. Their skill with their weapons allowed them to repel the force of the charge and counter, dropping a few horses and engaging their riders in hand to hand. Their sacrifice was advantageous, for the prince and his knights were absorbed into the rear of their infantry’s lines before the horsemen reached them. Most of the archers, as well, made it past them. The few that were left behind met the enemy’s unforgiving, swift spears and swords. Then the Marrian cavalry clashed against the princes’ footmen, but only engaged them briefly and withdrew, preparing another attack as they regrouped. Oman, within the throng between two conflicts, tried to discern their possible maneuvers. Retreat would be difficult, he realized as he sensed the Marrians doubling their advance towards them.

  “Prepare for the horsemen!” was shouted near him and he turned to see the Marrians resuming their charge. But before they reached them, their riders stopped, startled, some even rearing up as they tried to prepare for an attack from their flank. It was reinforcements from Commander Lenpece. Arnithian horsemen charged the enemy with vengeance, causing most of the Marrian cavalry to turn their reins and return up the hill. The soldiers around the prince cheered, and he nodded in relief.