The Hidden City

faith in western Daresia during the ninth century.’
    ‘That was almost two thousand years ago, Bergsten,’ Komier objected. ‘That’s a long time to hold a grudge.’
    Bergsten shrugged. ‘The old ones are the best. Send your scouts out a little further, Komier. Let’s see if we can get some kind of coherent report on the welcoming committee. A few prisoners might be useful.’
    ‘I know how to do this, Bergsten.’
    ‘Do it then. Don’t just sit there talking about it.’
    They passed Argoch, and Komier’s scouts brought in several prisoners. Patriarch Bergsten interrogated the poorly clad and ignorant Elene captives briefly, and then he ordered them released.
    ‘Your Grace,’ Darellon protested, ‘that was very unwise. Those men will run back to their commanders and report everything they’ve seen.’
    ‘Yes,’ Bergsten replied, ‘I know. I want them to do that. I also want them to tell all their friends that they’ve seen a hundred thousand Church Knights coming down out of the mountains. I’m encouraging defections, Darellon. We don’t want to kill those poor misguided heretics, we just want them to get out of our way.’
    ‘I still think it’s strategically unsound, your Grace.’
    ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, my son,’ Bergsten said. ‘This isn’t an article of the faith, so our Holy Mother encourages disagreement and discussion.’
    ‘There isn’t much point to discussion after you’ve already let them go, your Grace.’
    ‘You know, that very same thought occurred to me.’
    They encountered the opposing force in the broad valley of the River esos just to the south of the Zemoch town of Basne thirty leagues or so to the west of the Astellian border. The reports of the scouts and the information gleaned from the captives proved to be accurate. What faced them was not so much an army as it was a mob, poorly armed and undisciplined.
    The preceptors of the Four Orders gathered around Patriarch Bergsten to consider options. ‘They’re members of our own faith,’ Bergsten told them. ‘Our disagreements with them lie in the area of Church Government, not in the substance of our common beliefs. Those matters aren’t settled on the battlefield, so I don’t want too many of those people killed.’
    ‘I don’t see much danger of that, your Grace,’ Preceptor Abriel said.
    ‘They outnumber us about two to one, Lord Abriel,’ Sir Heldin pointed out.
    ‘One charge should even things out, Heldin,’ Abriel replied. ‘Those people are amateurs, enthusiastic but untrained, and about half of them are only armed with pitchforks. If we all drop our visors, level our lances and charge them en masse, most of them will still be running a week from now.’
    And that was the last mistake the venerable Lord Abriel was ever to make. The mounted knights fanned out with crisp precision to form up on a broad front stretching across the entire valley. Rank after rank of Cyrinics, Pandions, Genidians, and Alciones, all clad in steel and mounted on belligerent horses, lined up in what was probably one of the more intimidating displays of organized unfriendliness in the known world. The preceptors waited in the very center of the front rank as their subalterns formed up the rear ranks and the messengers galloped forward to declare that all was in readiness.
    ‘That should be enough,’ Komier said impatiently. ‘I don’t think the supply wagons will have to charge too.’ he looked around at his friends. ‘Shall we get started, gentlemen? Let’s show that rabble out there how real soldiers mount an attack.’
    He made a curt signal to a hulking Genidian Knight, and the huge blond man blew a shattering blast on his Ogre-horn trumpet. The front rank of the knights clapped down their visors and spurred their horses forward. The perfectly disciplined knights and horses galloped forward in an absolutely straight line like a moving wall of steel.
    Midway through the charge the forest of upraised lances came down like a breaking wave, and the defections in the opposing army began. The ill-trained serfs and peasants broke and ran, throwing away their weapons and squealing in terror. Here and there were some better-trained units that held their ground, but the flight of their allies from either side left their flanks dangerously exposed.
    The knights struck those few units with a great, resounding crash. Once more Abriel felt the old exulting satisfaction of battle. His lance shattered against