Broken Rule | Chapter 20

This post is chapter twenty of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule, which I'm serializing here on Steemit.

The story so far:
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

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Baron Henrik Zsolt had chosen to go mounted back to Tarkannan, rather than ride in the royal coach with Danijela and Zakhar. Tarkannans tended to respect a man who did his own fighting. Henrik had no intention of doing any fighting himself, but he desired the respect that came with the appearance that he could, so he gave every indication that he was quite prepared to engage in battle. He rode just ahead of the royal coach and just behind a vanguard of Liatian Lancers. The rest of the Lancers brought up the rear of the column with a multitude of farmers and miners known as the Citizen Militia in between. The militia was made up of men who had taken up a pike for the promise of some short, well-paid work. Liat hadn't been involved in a real war in generations, and many of the men were as convinced of Liatian invincibility as the rest of the world. Henrik suspected invincibility was a dangerous thing to be convinced of when you needed to fight for your life. A lot of people had romantic notions about war, but Henrik had spent a long, healthy life avoiding it.

Captain Romo fell back from the Lancers to ride next to Henrik. “What do we face ahead, baron?”

“We'll be moving through the Tanga Valley. The lord that controls it is Baron Rance Greenhouse, one of Gavril's strongest supporters. He's little more than a bootlicker, as I understand it.”

“Then he shouldn't be much trouble.”

“It's difficult to predict. If Duke Gavril were here, we could be sure that Greenhouse would simply fall in with whatever his master desired, but he's likely operating under orders that are weeks or months old. If he is forced to act on his own initiative, who can guess what he'll do? Even though Liat and Tarkannan have been at peace for centuries, it has always been Tarkannan custom to be prepared to defend the border. He certainly has men, and Gavril has no doubt supplemented his normal forces. If he wants to, he'll be able to make trouble for us. Will he let us pass? Who can say?”

The morning fog was finally cooking off. With a clear look at what was ahead they appeared to have their answer. Greenhouse had footmen arrayed across the valley floor in a defensive line. “I'll attempt to parley,” Henrik told Romo. Romo, for his part, was already busy issuing orders to his men.

Henrik rode ahead, to the center of Greenhouse's line, where the baron himself sat tall in the saddle, as if he expected artists were secretly observing from behind rocks and bushes so that they might memorialize him in painting and tapestry. “Baron Rance Greenhouse, is this how you show hospitality to your prince? I ride with His Highness Prince Zakhar to Kubara.”

Greenhouse spat. “This is how I welcome an invading army from Liat. You know where the border lies.”

“My friend, let's not be hasty. This is no invasion, this is an honor guard. You know that Zakhar is prince of both Liat and Tarkannan. You would take up arms against the king's own blood?”

“If you were truly my friend, you would stand with me, not with them. I call you a traitor to Tarkannan.”

“I find it puzzling that one who seeks to spill the blood of the prince can so easily charge treason on another. You know the king would not want this. Think about what you are proposing.”

Greenhouse hesitated. It was clear that he was uncomfortable acting on his own, as Henrik had predicted. Henrik didn't envy the man his decision. Of course, he wouldn't have schemed to get into the place that Greenhouse had found himself, so his sympathy had limits.

Greenhouse seemed to reach a decision. “Whatsoever another man would say about what I do, this land is mine by right, and I do not give an army from Liat leave to cross it. If you wish to turn back to Liat I will not delay you. If you persist as you have, I will meet you with steel, unless you bear a proper warrant from the Lord Marshal.”

“I am sorry it has come to this, baron,” said Henrik, turning his horse and riding back to the Liatians. They had formed their own line by this point, spread across the valley to match Greenhouse's men. There were two ranks of pikemen and a substantial reserve. The Lancers milled about behind the lines on their horses, seemingly uninterested in forming up for battle. As Henrik made his way through the line and reported the failure of diplomacy, Romo called the men to march. Henrik looked around anxiously for a moment, but no one seemed to have included Henrik in any battle plans. He hid his relief and made his way over to the pavilion that had been erected so that the prince and princess could watch the battle while enjoying a picnic lunch.

Ever so slowly, the Citizen Militia advanced. As inexorable as the tide, they moved across the valley until they met Greenhouse's men. From a distance it looked very impressive, like a large scale version of the precision marching demonstrations that the palace guards performed every morning while raising the Watchful Eye flags around the palace in Liat. Henrik could see how people could become enamored of warfare, but he still remembered enough of his knightly training to understand the reality of what would soon happen.

The lines clashed. Liatian pikes skewered Tarkannan spearmen, and Tarkannan spears returned the favor. Raucous battle cries mixed with screams of agony. After a moment of fighting, a group of Liatians on the left flank broke and began to fall back. Like predators catching sight of fleeing prey, Greenhouse's men gave in to their instinct to chase. They surged into the gap left by the Liatian left flank, leaving the relative safety of their ordered line. With the defenders' formation now broken, the Liatian Lancers abandoned the ruse of being lazy and disordered and formed up and wheeled as one. They charged down through the commotion on the left flank where the Liatian foot had withdrawn and the defenders had pursued. Once behind the line of Greenhouse's men, they split into smaller units and fell on the defenders from the rear. Caught between pikemen in the front and cavalry behind, the Tarkannan troops were trapped. Some of the defending knights had the presence of mind to order their footsoldiers into tighter defensive formations, but the Lancers focused their attacks on these groups, breaking them apart and crushing them under the thundering hooves of their horses. With the Tarkannan formations completely broken it turned into a slaughter. Eventually, Greenhouse realized what was happening and called a retreat. His men turned and fled, like victims escaping a burning building, running in ones and twos across the valley to escape the carnage. Now it was the Lancers' turn to give chase, and they did it with ferocity tempered only by precision.

Baron Rance Greenhouse was unhorsed in the battle, but suffered no wounds. Zakhar wanted to try him on the spot and behead him for treason. Danijela felt that he would be a powerful symbol to the rest of the nobles of Tarkannan if they took him to Kubara, to have King Radoslav perform the trial. Greenhouse's hands were tied to a pole that was placed behind his head, and he was marched along under armed guard.

While the soldiers tended their wounded and reformed their columns, Princess Danijela called Henrik over to the coach. “Henrik, I think you have done as much good as you can here with us. I would like you to go ahead to Kubara and prepare them for our arrival.”

“Yes, Highness.” How exactly was he going to do that?

“Hopefully you will have more luck persuading Radoslav and his hangers-on to be reasonable than you had with dear Greenhouse.”

“As you say, Highness.” Was she angry with him? It wasn't his fault that Greenhouse had chosen to fight. Her expression indicated that she desired no further discussion on the topic, so Henrik went to his horse and rode.