A Solitary Journey Read Free Page B

sent a messenger, not gone himself. The broad valley echoed again to the roar of the Kerwyn thundermakers and another swathe was cut through the Shessian ranks. ‘The men are breaking, Warmaster!’ cried another Marchlord to Waters’s right. Waters saw the ripple of fear through his army and the front ranks began to fragment. Across the field, the Kerwyn army moved forward in anticipation of the Shessian retreat. Waters turned to the dark-haired man who’d spoken, Marchlord Keeper, and said, ‘Take two hundred riders and stop the men from running.’ Keeper nodded and withdrew. Watersreturned to watching the unfolding events on the battlefield.
    His scouts brought reports that the Kerwyn army numbered between fifty and sixty thousand footmen. They had three hundred thundermakers, the magic sticks that were effective in killing men from a longer range than all but the best archers could reach. They had very few horsemen, perhaps a thousand at most. The Kerwyn force was powerful enough to overrun Marchlord Longreach’s troops, but Waters had assembled the largest army in Western Shess history to meet them—thirty thousand soldiers, five thousand archers and six thousand cavalry. Slightly outnumbered, he knew the secret was his cavalry strength. In head-on battle, he expected his soldiers to sway fortune in their favour because they were better trained than the Kerwyn hill men, but he had to overcome the psychological impact of the thundermakers. His archers would distract them. And his cavalry would ride them down and crush them. He just needed his foot soldiers to hold ground long enough for his strategy to work.
    The hill where he waited was lower than he wanted. The Kerwyn didn’t know the land as well as his people, but somehow they had commandeered the highest point on the valley’s eastern side, forcing him to compromise his plan, so he altered the paths of attack for his archers and cavalry. Patience was a potent tactic. The booming thundermakers cut through his front lines again and this time a significant host lost their courage and ran, but their frightened retreat was halted by Keeper’s riders who herded the scared soldiers back into the ranks.
    Waters rose in his saddle and waved to a large copse of gum and mallee on a rise to the east. Cavalry burst from hiding and charged down the slope towards the enemy thundermakers. Simultaneously, a storm ofarrows rose from a long line of archers stationed in the copse and fell with punishing effect among the thundermaker crew. Waters smiled at his cunning. He turned to a Leader and sent him down the slope to issue the order to charge. Then he adjusted his black-plumed helmet, turned his horse and descended the opposite side of the hill towards his personal troop of a thousand cavalry, intent on leading them around the enemy’s western flank to drive home his victory.
    Cleaver Broadback didn’t like being sent away from the battlefield. The journey south, the sacking of villages and taking of slaves were honourable, but he had looked forward to the chance to meet the enemy in pitched battle and his men were eager to prove themselves as warriors. Having fought valiantly all the way from the north to this broad valley in the enemy’s heartland, he’d been given command over two thousand men—an unexpected honour—but now he was sent away to wait in hiding, like a thief, while the main battle was conducted without him. The army leader, King Ironfist’s Warlord, Bloodsword the Merciless, assured him that waiting in the bush was essential. ‘I’m giving you two hundred thundermakers. The enemy don’t know about them, so you will be a most unpleasant surprise when they stumble upon you. And they will. And you will kill every one of them. No prisoners. No survivors. They must all die. If you do this, my friend, you will bring a great victory to our people and it will stand you and your family in good stead for the future.’ Bloodsword’s word was always good. As