A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

screened three wings of Bluerose
cavalry: fifteen hundred lancers who would, when she gave
the signal, sweep down between the south skirmishers
and the Crimson Rampant shield-wall to begin the hard
push of the enemy northward along the floor of the valley,
even as that shield-wall advanced towards the riverbed.
    On her immediate right, at a modest bulge in the ridge
line, the Atri-Preda had positioned the Drene Garrison –
fifteen hundred medium infantry – looking down on an
approach narrowed by two drainage channels. Directly in
front of her waited the conjoined wedges of a thousand
heavy infantry of the Merchants' Battalion – a sawtooth
formation that she would advance down then swing either
right or left, depending on the state of battle. Rightward
was problematic in that they would have to cross a drainage
channel, but they would do that so early in the march
down that she was not unduly concerned.
    To her immediate left waited three half-legions of
heavies from the Artisan Battalion, screened in front by a
thousand Harridict skirmishers just beginning their move
down towards the broad, flat riverbed. Just north of these
units waited the Atri-Preda's mailed fist, a thousand
heavies of the Crimson Rampant, again in sawtooth formation,
against whom she expected Redmask to throw his
main force of warriors – who were already directly opposite,
still holding to their spearhead forms, five in all.
    Behind this solid wall of heavy infantry waited the
remaining three companies of Bluerose lancers, although
this was a feint, since Bivatt intended to send them northward,
round behind the ballistae knoll and down into the
riverbed beyond the chokepoint.
    North of the Crimson Rampant heavy infantry was
another shield-wall of the brigade's medium infantry,
positioned to guard the flank of the heavies to their right
and the approach to the knoll to their left.
    Settling back onto her saddle, Bivatt gestured and an
aide hurried to her side. 'Signal the Crimson Rampant
heavy to advance into the valley and halt midway between
their present position and the riverbed. Confirm that the
Dresh ballistae are properly sighted for enfilade.'
    The runner rushed off to the block of flag signallers
gathered on the raised platform behind her. Without mages
they were resorting to the ancient practices of communication.
Far from ideal, she admitted, and once the clouds of
dust rose above the engagement . . . well, at that point such
signalling often became irrelevant.
    She waved another aide forward. 'Send the left flank
lancers to north of the chokepoint.'
    Right and left on the valley slope before her, Letherii
skirmishers were reaching the flats of the riverbed, still
unchallenged. The sound of masses of soldiers in motion
rose in a whisper above the thunder of horse-hoofs from the
other side of the valley.
    On that side the clouds of sunlit dust obscured almost
everything, but she noted that those clouds stretched both
north and south, well beyond the battle site. Well, one of those marks a feint, likely the north one. He knows which of my horns will strike deepest and turn. She called out to a third
message-bearer. 'Signal the right flank lancers to advance
to the edge of the riverbed, widely arrayed in case the
skirmishers need to withdraw in haste. Crimson Rampant
mediums and the Harridict heavies to march down in their
wake.'
    Let's get this damned thing started, Redmask.
    She couldn't see him. No knot of standards or banners
marked his command position. No riders converging in one
place then back out again.
    But, finally, movement. Lightly armoured skirmishers
were pelting down to meet her right advance. Slingers,
shortbow archers, javelin-hurlers, round hide shields and
scimitars. The mass of horse-archers that had been
riding back and forth along that ridge line was suddenly
gone.
    'Have the south lancers hold!' Bivatt snapped. Those
Awl skirmishers were an invitation to charge, at which
point her cavalry's flank would be swept by those mounted
archers – and whatever lurked hidden behind them.
    Light engagement now between skirmishers, directly
down from the Drene Garrison. The javelins were an unexpected
inclusion, and were proving bloodily effective.
    The southernmost Crimson Rampant skirmishers had
crossed the riverbed and were angling northward – still a
thousand or more paces from contacting their Awl counterparts.
Then arrows began descending in their midst –
horse-archers, crowding the ridge just above its