A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

steepest
bank. Hardly clouds of missiles, but enough to make those
lightly armoured skirmishers flinch, then contract slightly
back towards the riverbed.
    Where the hand-to-hand fighting was occurring, the
Artisan skirmishers – weathering the javelin strike – were
now driving the Awl back.
    The early morning air remained infuriatingly still – no
wind at all, and the dust swirled and rolled and spread in an
ever-thickening haze.
    At sighting the half-thousand heavy infantry of the
Harridict appear at the west edge of the riverbed, the Awl
skirmishers began a wholesale retreat, many flinging away
their round-shields.
    Redmask does not have their hearts. Oh, we can break them here. Hard and fast. 'Signal the Merchants' heavies to advance
and swing south!'
    To her left, the only movement was from her own forces,
the skirmishers of the Harridict and, just north of them, the
Crimson Rampant heavy infantry – almost to the riverbed
now. She squinted at the valley's opposite side. Perhaps this
chaos she was seeing was evidence of Redmask's loss of
control. No, wait on this. Wait until we take the valley's south end.
    The Artisan skirmishers were seeking to maintain
contact with the retreating Awl, but Bivatt could see the
sergeants holding them in check, keeping them just ahead
of the advancing heavies on their right flank. Still, throwing away their damned shields . . .
    Then, directly before her, horse-archers appeared, a
narrow spear driving down the centre of the battlefield,
with only skirmishers opposite them – who quickly backed
up the slope at a southerly angle to draw in behind her
advancing Merchants' Battalion of heavy infantry. Is Redmask mad? That spear-point will be smashed against the heavies – this is not how cavalry charge – they're only horse-archers!
    Whereupon the mounted archers wheeled, the spear
becoming a line – a thousand or more – suddenly sweeping
southward.
    Catching the Artisan skirmishers in the flank.
    Arrows flashed.
    The Letherii light infantry seemed to melt away, bodies
tumbling down. Survivors ran for their lives.
    That broad line of horse-archers then began a complicated,
stunning manoeuvre, its tailing, easternmost end
now slowing, swinging up, west, pulling to shift the line
south-north, now launching sweeping arrow-fire across
the front ranks of the Harridict heavy infantry, then the
Crimson Rampant medium, before the head of the line
swung back eastward, more missiles arcing across to the
Bluerose lancers, who responded with a blare of horns,
surging forward to close with the Awl.
    Yet they were not interested in such an engagement. The
line broke apart, as riders spurred hard back towards
the east ridge.
    ' Halt that charge! ' Bivatt shouted. Stung, we lash out – who commands that wing?
    As the lancers spread out in their hard pursuit, three
wings of heavier-armed and armoured Awl horse-warriors
appeared on the ridge line, then plunged down the slope to
take the Bluerose companies in the flank. Three wings, outnumbering
the lancers by two to one.
    Bivatt watched in fury as her cavalry sought to wheel to
meet the attack, whilst others responded to her command
– and so lost all momentum.
    'Sound the withdrawal for those lancers!'
    Too late.
    The Awl horse-warriors swept through scattered
skirmishers of the Crimson Rampant, then slammed into
the Bluerose companies.
    She heard animals scream, felt the impact tremble
through the ground – enough to make her mount sidestep
– and then dust obscured the scene. 'Advance the heavies
at the double!'
    'Which heavies, Atri-Preda?'
    'Harridict and Merchants', you fool! And same
command for the Crimson Rampant medium! Quickly!'
    She saw riders and riderless horses plunge into view from
the roiling dust clouds. Her lancers had been shattered –
were the Awl pursuing? Their blood must be high – oh, let them lose control, let them meet the fists of my heavies!
    But no, there they were, rising up the far slope, waving
weapons in the air to announce their triumph.
    She saw the Awl skirmishers reappearing on the ridge
line, in blocks with avenues in between to let the riders
pass through – but those light infantry were transformed.
Equipped now with rectangular, copper-sheathed shields
and bearing long spears, they closed ranks after the last
horse-warriors were through, and steadied their line at the
very edge of the ridge.
    On the valley floor, dust climbed skyward, slowly revealing
the devastating effects of that flank