[nsw-fic] Gryphonrider Excerpts

[machievelli]

A little background:

 

This is from the first Gryphonrider book. The main Character Dhyanna is a junior officer and had suggested a bold plan. Since she suggested it, she is the one who commands it.

 

All ancillary parts, the background actions, have been pared away. This is the battle itself, and what her women gain for their sacrifice...

 

Looking directly from the opposite end of the box formed by the Black Dragons stood a Maniple of infantry below the naked standard pole. A man on a huge Perchon rode to stand before them, his lance held erect, the white of the parley flag tied to it. He walked his horse forward, into the pass. As he rode, he looked left and right, the look on his face was disgust.

 

Dhyanna smiled as she slung her cloak. He was looking to see if his Cavalry element could drive home a charge. But the lower pass had been soaked by rain for the last month, and a few days of heat had not dried the ground sufficiently. Any movement by heavy animals or large bodies of men would quickly turn that stretch of grass below into a mire. The closest thing to a dry stand was where her people stood waiting. The enemy would have to come through almost 100 paces of what would quickly be reduced to muck before reaching her.

 

As he approached, Dhyanna took off her helmet, placing it in the crook of her left arm as she moved down through the Warrior's ranks, moving forward past them to stand ten feet below.

 

Up close the man was huge. Almost seven feet tall, a clothyard wide at the shoulders. For a moment, that perverse memory of hers gave him a name, but she shook her head, ignoring it. She had never met a man named Joeweider.

 

Bushy eyebrows contracted over his eyes as he looked down at Dhyanna. "I have come to have words with your Commander." The voice was deep, as if he spoke from within a well.

 

"She has not yet arrived." Dhyanna answered. She waved toward the upper pass. The tents could be barely seen at this distance, partly from the smoke of fires. The wind carried the sound of metal being pounded, horses riding, and thin shouts. "As it is, the others are still preparing our encampment. I however am the Junior Legate. I led on the march."

 

The man's eyes bulged for a second, and a brief snort burst forth before he gained control. Dhyanna smiled as if sharing the jest. She had gauged his reaction correctly so far.

 

"Since you arrived first, it is you I need to speak with then. You took something of ours last night. We demand it."

 

Dhyanna pointed at the soil at her feet. "This is the land of the Enclave. No man makes demands on our soil."

 

"I am Garth, Lord of Sanderos, now Commander of the Black Dragons. Last night, your sword whores attacked us, cravenly murdered our Commander, and set fire to the tents of our men." He raised his voice so that her Warriors could hear. "As you know, assassination of a Commander is a violation of the laws of War. Under that law, we demand his murderers, and the one that ordered it. If this is done, the rest of you can leave in peace. Otherwise, we must slay you all."

 

Dhyanna motioned, and Yolande stepped forward. "Bring that, thing." A Warrior ran up and around the bend. Minutes later, she returned, carrying the standard draped as if it were a bath towel. Dhyanna took it between her fingers as if afraid to soil herself.

 

"Lord Garth, I led the attack last night. The woman that struck you Commander down, against my orders, died there. This I swear before all gods. As for your standard." She dropped it to the ground, then stepped on it. "It will be waiting for you here. Come and take it!"

 

Garth purpled, glaring at the woman, then at those beyond her. "Lies! All of you will die today!" He pointed toward his camp, and Dhyanna noticed an X shaped structure being lifted. "But when I ride from this pass, she's first." He glared down at Dhyanna, his horse prancing as it felt his fury. "And as for you, you Amazon bitch! We will send so many men that they will blot out the sun!"

 

"Then we fight in the shade!" She snapped back.

 

Garth spun his horse about, riding back down to his men. As he reached the pass entrance, he cast the truce banner aside, then rode down to face his men. In seconds they were roaring in anger.

 

Dhyanna stepped back into the first rank, taking her shield from one of the Warriors, slinging it. "Well, how did I do?"

 

"We will fight in the shade." Erykah repeated, smiling. "Why did you come up with that?"

 

Again her perverse memory came. A beach facing a narrow defile. Men in ancient armor facing an unnumbered horde. "I don't know." She lied. "It just seemed the thing to say."

 

"If you had wanted to make them mad, Legate, you have succeeded admirably." Erykah smirked. "I would assume surrender is out of the question?"

 

"I would agree. Prepare for visitors."

 

"What about Roane?" One of the warriors pointed toward the struggling figure on the cross. Dhyanna looked across, then shook her head. "She murdered Dione, she tried to murder me. She assassinated the enemy Commander. She's getting only half of what she deserves."

 

"To hell with her." Kalle shouted from the rear rank. She spat, hefting her bow.

 

For an hour, all they could hear was the screams as they punished Roane. Dhyanna almost wished she were closer. The shot she had made at the Academy would have fallen a full three hundred paces short. Finally the figure on the cross hung limp, and now the drums and horns sounded.

 

Outside the pass, bowmen taken from each maniple moved into the centers, facing the pass. The women slid their shields forward, dropping the support legs, and waited. This would be the first combat test of the design Dhyanna had suggested over a year before. As the first enemy volley was loosed, they ducked, their own bows in hand, and waited. Popping up to assure that the enemy would fire again, they accepted two more volleys, by which time they had the bowmen's timing, and were ready to return fire. Immediately the flatter shooting, longer ranged horn and laminated wood bows began to take their toll. Now the men sent in shield men to guard the archers. But the arrows of the women seemed to seek out each gap and break in the tortoise.

 

Finally the enemy archers were ordered back out of range. As they were withdrawn, Dhyanna's archers gathered up the enemy shafts that were still usable. The siege quivers they carried held fifty arrows each. But even twenty-five hundred arrows would not last forever.

 

Then they stood, patient again. Dhyanna looked back, assuring herself of the disposition one last time. She was in the middle of the first rank, Yolande on the right side of the third, Erykah all the way back with the archers of the fifth. When under direct assault, only fifteen of the women archers would draw bow at a time, and she intended to rotate the forward lines back after each skirmish to allow them some rest.

 

"Gyrphons! Orders of the day" She pointed toward the Standard. "From that Standard, we do not retreat."

All was ready.

 

 

The first attack up the Scout's road came just before ten. A Cohort of foot armed with spears formed, waiting for orders. As they entered the pass, their spearpoints glowed as sunlight finally reached the floor of the pass.

 

Erykah shouted, and a flight of arrows leaped into the packed enemy ranks. The entire front row went down almost together, trampled under by the plodding feet of those behind before they could rise. Every few seconds, like clockwork, the arrows flew. More than twenty died in the first thirty seconds. Someone shouted, a Centurion perhaps, and the men raised their shields, backing away.

 

Once they had retreated far enough to assure that they couldn't swiftly return, Dhyanna's rank of warriors raced down plucking arrows from bodies. By using bodkin points narrow as needles, but made to penetrate armor, this was made easy. In five volleys, over ninety arrows had flown, over seventy were still usable.

 

Below, the next assault was forming. The remnants of the first Cohort had been reinforced with three more. The formation milled for a few moments, then began marching purposefully.

 

"All hands! Archer!" Dhyanna called. Each woman reset their shields, held their bows, waiting.

 

As the enemy entered the pass, they were greeted not by fifteen arrows per volley, but almost fifty. The leading men screamed and died as arrows punched them off their feet. Yet the mass of men behind them kept moving inexorably, a grindstone of men crushing the dead and dying into bloody meal. Almost two hundred men had begun this push, now only half that, then eighty.

 

A hand clapped Dhyanna's shoulder, and the person behind her whispered urgently. "Four more Cohorts forming to attack when these have engaged!" Dhyanna nodded.

 

"Front three ranks, sword!" The women flipped the bows on their back, strings holding them against them as they pulled their shields up, retracted the stands, and drew their swords.

 

Now, with the enemy almost within a pike's length, the attack had begun to waver. The men in the front, the first to die they knew, were trying to flinch back. Only the pressure of almost a hundred men behind them moved some of them forward.

 

Finally they came within reach of the front line of women.

 

Instead of standing at spear's length, the women plunged forward, under the points, and into closer proximity.

 

Now their training showed it's worth. The women hacked into the front of the formation like the blade of a saw. They backed step by bloody step, leaping in and out like madwomen, as if they had fought together for their entire lives. Covering each other as if they knew that any man they did not see would be killed by their sword sister to the right or left.

 

They were a killing machine with an edge of seven heads, as many swords, and no remorse. Even when one of the women fell, another would leap in to take her place from the next rank, and there would be seven merciless killers again.

 

Finally the enemy broke. Twenty odd men broke from the hellground, throwing aside weapons and shields to run faster, stumbling over the carpet of dead in a frantic bid for their lives. If they had a rational thought, they probably thanked the gods that the women were not shooting them in the back.

 

But the women had other fish to fry. For these twenty men, it was already too late. From below, running as fast as the uneven ground allowed came four cohorts, 200 men, 25 tons of man and armor. The ground itself squelched as they plowed on, a human being had no chance.

 

The men that were running stopped, screaming, then were flattened into bloody paste beneath the juggernaut. But the charge had slowed as mud did what mere flash had not.

 

Dhyanna's line just had time to fall back into their position, diving forward even as the mass struck. The line recoiled, but still they fought. Foot by bloody foot they retreated, even as they raised shield walls of dead. Above, the two rows of archers ran out of arrows. For a few seconds, the battle wavered. Then it crested there. Too many had died in that rush, and sheaves of arrows snatched from the unengaged ranks before them brought the women archers back in full career.

 

Fifty men turned to run, only half reaching the flats below. Dhyanna watched them go, sagging on her sword, counting her losses. Of the front two rows, only two besides herself had survived. Ten feet from where she stood was their original line, and all of that ten feet was knee deep in dead.

 

A group of her people came by at the run, gathering arrows. Yolande stopped beside her, the ornate sword in hand as she motioned to her line. "Are you injured, Legate?" She asked formally, though her face showed how she really felt.

 

Dhyanna shook her head. She hurt all over. "No. Just dry."

 

Yolande unslung her water skin, and Dhyanna rinsed her mouth before she gratefully drank.

 

"We will assume the line, Legate."

 

"The line is yours." As she returned the skin, savoring the watered wine in her mouth, she watched the standing legion. Perhaps they were stunned by the fight so far. Or maybe the spirit of the Black Dragons had been broken all those years before. Maybe that piece of silk she had besmirched wasn't worth the slaughter.

 

She looked up at that thought, at the crimson cloth with the Gryphon on it. To her Warriors, it was a new symbol, better than the one they had carried for many hated days. But to her it was more.

 

It was a recurrent dream, a creature that haunted her in the vales of dreams. Something that appealed to her and terrified her. Now over this bloodied field, it rustled in the winds. She suddenly had a vision.

 

She would die under that banner today, as it watched her entire command join her. It would pace other fields, watch as thousands upon thousands die. It would outlive even the Enclave.

 

A horn brought her back sharply, and she turned to look downward. Still well out of bowshot, a cohort of cavalry was marshaling. Dhyanna drew an arrow, nocking it. Then motioned for the others to lower theirs. It was five hundred odd paces, no one‑ She smiled, then drew and shot cleanly.

 

Suddenly one of the horses below went mad, striking out with hooves at the ones around it, rearing to throw it's rider. Then it fell, crushing him. A footman ran over, an ax slamming down to kill the horse, then he looked up the pass in shock.

 

The women gasped, then roared, waving their weapons in frenzy.

 

"What a shot!" one of the women cried. Dhyanna smiled, ready to fire again, but the cavalry wheeled, then began marshaling again. This time about six hundred paces away.

 

"You know the drill! Five arrows as fast as you can, then run!" She ordered. "Wait for it!"

 

The horn sounded, and the horsemen began moving. As they reached five hundred paces, Dhyanna shouted, "When you can bear, fire!"

 

For three seconds, only she fired, then as one, her warriors also began to fire. For almost five interminable seconds, the only sound was the thunder of hooves, the screams of men, and the steady thump of the bows as their arrows flew. Then from the front a Hoplite ran back, followed by another. Suddenly the screams of horse were added as arrows began to strike, men and horses falling into the press, where nothing not on a horse would live.

 

Dhyanna flipped her bow onto her shoulders. Over half of the women had run now, and the rest were starting back. She waved them past her screaming as the enemy approached. As the last passed her, she turned and ran for her life.

 

To the enemy, it must have seemed that they had broken like a shattered glass. Women ran as if pursued by the hounds of hell, up the slope, and around the bend. Dhyanna made the turn, then heard the enemy directly behind her. She thanked every Goddess that she had ordered cleared marked paths for her women through the cluster of tents. She leaped to the side, rolling under the palisade as the leading edge of the cavalry struck it behind her.

 

Usually, a horse would stop before running into pikes. But the turn was too sharp, the tents obscured the pike points, and their speed too great to slow. Like a thunderbolt, the cavalry hit, horses screaming as they rammed their length onto the palisade, sliding forward to jam as others punched onto the same thicket. Men were thrown over, impaled on the first row, or thrown atop it, skating like waterbugs until points ripped into them, stopping that rush. The few with luck enough to slide all the way in died before they could rise.

 

Dhyanna heard the pikes above her shatter, oak and ash splinters driving into her armor. Before her she could see how close she had come to joining the enemy dead. A horse flailed close enough that she had to duck it's hoof. She drew her sword, put it out of it's misery, then scurried to the left, finding the opening in the palisade. A woman raised her bow, then lifted firing over her head into the press.

 

Thanks to the muddy ground, the men were hopelessly mired. From around and above them, the defenders fired into the swirling mass. At a distance of ten paces, even the worst archer can't miss a man sized standing target, and these archers were far from the worst.

 

Dhyanna stood, then waved her arm. "Attack!" The ones not firing grasped swords, and plunged down the sallyports into the fray.

 

What most people don't understand is that while a cavalry charge is truly terrible to witness and endure, once it has been stopped, the cavalry trooper is a man sitting on a two thousand pound animal with it's own simple mind, and unless specially trained for it, unwilling to stay and die. Even with such training, a horse is usually easy to frighten, and once frightened, too busy trying to escape.

 

The women that now attacked waved their swords, smacking horses on the rump, leaped up to catch arms to drag the men down, threw burning coals to drive them mad.

 

It was a swirl of images. A horse rearing, falling backward as a woman rammed a spear into it's chest. A woman hamstrung another horse, so intent on it, that she missed the rider that cut her down from behind. That soldier barely had time to celebrate his victory as another woman climbed him and his horse like a tree, cutting his throat.

 

Dhyanna unseated a man, pushing his sword aside with her foot before killing him, then slapped the horse to get it to run from the charnel house. Then coming toward her, striking left and right with a tulwar, came Garth.

 

She shouted, getting his attention, then stood as he wheeled, charging toward her. She waited, then at the last instant, leaped to his left, her sword ripping his horse from front to rear leg. The horse collapsed, and Garth rolled aside, coming to his feet. The tulwar spun like a disk of light, and he ran at her.

 

She met his charge, laying his armor open like a seam. "Fool!" She shouted as they backed away. "It was a trick! This is all we sent!"

 

His eyes widened, as the implications struck. Fooled, betrayed by his honor, the Legion fighting a needless battle. For an instant, his guard dropped. She disemboweled him, taking his arm and head off with the return stroke.

 

For the first time in several seconds, she paused to take stock of the situation. Only half a dozen men, all on foot remained. But in seconds they would be dead. Of her own, she could see none downed at the moment, but moved forward, calling her people to order as she did. As they assumed their stand again, she was able to get more information. Only six had died, two were badly injured, but were already being carried back.

 

Erykah was among the dead. She had been backed into a rock face by the enemy press, laying in a windrow of their dead.

 

Below, two more cohorts of cavalry were marshaling, moving forward even as the women took their positions. Dhyanna ordered a retreat beyond the palisade, and they waited.

 

These, not under fire moved forward more slowly. When they saw the palisade, they dismounted under fire, and moved into the relative cover of the palisade itself as they tore it apart, horse archers trying to cover their advance. When Dhyanna's people moved forward to prevent it, the killing began anew.

 

Five men rode free of the battle, but of her own, Dhyanna could count only eighteen of the fifty she had brought still able to stand. Three had been wounded badly enough to die within the hour.

 

Then came the next charge, Only a cohort, but with the palisade in a shambles, and her weakened force, it would be more than enough. The women fired until the enemy was too close, then it was sword and dagger time again.

 

Dhyanna felt a surge of adrenaline, slaying even as she was forced backward by the press. She felt something strike her back, then brush her head. Above her was the standard pole, the Gryphon watching the end with solemn amusement.

 

"To me!" she cried. From the press came what remained, perhaps half a dozen, hacking their way to her side to surround and protect the standard.

 

The world narrowed to what was before her, blood running into her eyes from a cut on her forehead. But she could feel it in her heart as one by one the women went down.

 

Finally she had a moment of peace, and lowered her sword. Men stood between her and the palisade, armed, ready to attack, held only by a man on a horse that stood between them. She looked around, but none of her women still stood.

 

The horseman walked his horse forward, then dismounted out of range. "Legate, will you give up our standard?" She did not trust her voice, so she shook her head, coughing.

 

He took his flask from the saddle, and held it up in offering. Dhyanna nodded, and he flipped it across the space, where she caught it. Her mouth burned at the watered brandy, and it took a conscious effort to spit out the rinsing mouthful before drinking. She sealed it, and tossed it back.

 

"You and yours have fought hard and well, Legate." He looked around. "We may have killed you all, but gutted two of our Maniples to do it.

 

"Heed me, Legate. I offer this. Give us back our standard, and swear that the words you gave were true concerning our Commander's death. In return, we shall go, and leave you in peace."

 

"What of your other officers?" She motioned toward the dead.

 

"Your sally worked all too well. Over half our officers died that night, the rest," he motioned toward the pass. "lay beyond. I am the senior officer remaining."

 

He stiffened, and she heard a shout behind her. Suddenly women surrounded her. most were wearing the leathers of Scouts. But the rest were carrying shields from all three Legions. The man stood still, hands at his sides, away from his weapons. He looked the new arrivals over, then returned his gaze to Dhyanna.

 

"My word on it, Legate. The battle in the pass is over. We will retreat."

 

Dhyanna sagged against the standard pole, then reached up, the Dragon coming free. She handed it to one of the women, then motioned. The woman folded it reverently, then walked forward, holding it in both hands. The man took it, bowing, then stepped back.

 

"By all the gods of mortal man, I swear that Roane was the one who killed your Commander, against orders. She is the one you caught."

 

The man nodded, mounting his horse. "When next we meet, perhaps we can have a drink before the battle. I am Valen from Britaas. He turned to his men. "The Gyrphons!"

 

His men roared, and she suddenly realized that they were cheering her! Then they moved down the pass, followed by the warrior women.

 

One of the women stayed, holding her, only the grip keeping her on her feet. She looked up, trying to focus her eyes. "Yasmine?"

 

"Right in one."

 

Dhyanna looked down the pass, at the bodies of her first command slaughtered here. "My women, find them."

 

"We shall, Legate. All of them."

 

"Then the line, the line is, is yours..." She fell forward into a deep pit, not even feeling the gentle hands that carried her back into the tents.

 

 

 

Below the fortress itself, less than a three mile league away was the Narrow Pass. Here a full Legion could deploy, but the level rocky ground made it ideal for cavalry charges, and impossible to trench and buttress, as some legions on both sides had discovered the hard way. Only twice in their history had an invader passed this point. Once in 121 ER When Sogan the Butcher had done it, then again in his grandson Farak's invasion in 184 ER.

 

Just below the Baraka, at the edge of Tamara's Gorge, lay Sogan's Wall. Built in 121 by that man's army, and added to by Farak's, it was the only remnant of those two invasions. A grim reminder that the women had paid blood far too often to simply stand idle. The outer approach ladders, ramps, and walkway had been razed, and instead it was now guarded on the inside by elements of the Gyrfalcon Legion. Below the opening, carved in the stone, were the last words of Deenah, the commander that had led the Gyrfalcons to victory, and died. They had been spoken directly to Sogan himself before that final battle;

"You call yourself a god. If you were a righteous God,

you would not hurt those that have never injured you. If

You are a God, than the world will do better with your absence.

 

"If you are a man, as I think, then advance, and you

will find that women can be your equal."

 

The Legions stopped at the wall, as was custom, and the Standard bearers went forward. As they arrived, she had been told by Lea that Carla's Cohort would replace her as the Lead Cohort for the Skulls. Being one of only two able to walk, she understood that this was right and proper. So she went to where her tent was being set up. While the Commanders, Senior Tribunes, and Standard Bearers would continue on, the Legions themselves would camp here tonight, as was custom.

 

As the camp was being set, first one horn, then another picked up the call of Legion's Assembly. Dhyanna heard it, and went about her business. She sat, staring back toward the pass, ignoring the Warriors that were in her view. There was the sound of marching feet behind her, and someone cleared their throat. Dhyanna looked up, then was on her feet. It was Tatiana, her Tribune since Minna had died in the battle.

 

"Why are you not at Legion Assembly?"

 

"Tribune?" Dhyanna shook her head in confusion. "Why‑"

 

"No time. Full armor and weapons, now!"

 

Dhyanna leaped to obey, digging out the armor she had put away. As she stepped from the tent, four silent Warriors boxed her in, and escorted her to the gate.

 

Before the gate stood not three groups, but four. The Gryphon banner was over the fourth group, made up of a Tribune of the Falcons, a silent Warrior of the Grey Leopards bearing the banner, and‑ Yolande!

 

Lea, followed by Darla, and Belle, Shaandera's acting replacement walked over. Darla glared at her silently.

 

"Are all Legions and their Commanders now assembled?" she asked coldly.

 

"Yes, Commander." The Tribune standing beneath the Gryphon replied.

 

"Good." Darla walked over, looking down into Dhyanna's eyes. "And how did you expect us to march in without all of the Legions being represented?" Darla growled. She pointed to where the Commander of the Gyrphons, if there had been one, would stand. "Take your place."

 

Dhyanna stood where she had been told to, actually superior to the Tribune in this formation. Darla harrumphed, then marched back to her standard. Lea winked at her before doing the same. Confused, Dhyanna looked to the others, but except for Yolande's smirk, there was no help there.

 

A bugler from the Gold Falcons stepped forward, and blew a challenge. It was customary that the Legion that had achieved the least honor in the most recent battle must announce the others.

 

On the wall, a guard looked down, an instant later, a Tribune joined her. "Who approaches?" the Tribune bellowed.

 

"Legions of the people!" Darla shouted.

 

"Name them."

 

"Behold! Before you stand the Gryphon Guard! The Crimson Skulls! The Grey Leopards! The Gold Falcons!"

 

"Close your mouth, moppet." Yolande hissed. To be hailed as a legion was madness enough. But to have the place of honor as well stunned her.

 

The gate grated open, and the Tribune above them shouted, "Pass, Legions!"

 

Training took over. Dhyanna shouted. "Gryphon Guard, advance!" and her party started forward. Behind her, and suddenly before her as well, she could hear the cheers of every Warrior in sight as the Gryphon marched through the gate for the first time.

 

They turned onto the road to the Baraka, fifteen paces between the parties, passing crowds that saw the banner for the first time. Most stood staring in surprise. But Warriors saluted it, and took up the cheering as she passed them. They passed through the Baraka's gates, then turned to march to the Legion wall. Here grinning Warriors took the Gryphon, placing it on the wall for the first time.